Instinct
by TracyLeeT
Summary: Someone from Adam Cartwright's past brings danger to the Ponderosa.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter One

Waiting is an art, and patience is but a single brush stroke. He'd read that, but he couldn't remember where.

 _Diptera. A regal sounding name for an often squashed, never welcomed insect. Why two names for an insignificant, winged insect that humans and animals alike neither invite nor appreciate._

Seated on the unforgiving bench in Monoville's only passable gathering place, Adam watched the fly as it tirelessly made its way along the length of the back edge of the church pew.

Voices droned, the occasional sudden outburst barely noticed, just as they had for the past hour and seven minutes, and Adam vowed he would never again represent his family's lumbering interests at an upstart town's request.

 _Parts unknown. Instinct versus rational thought. Does that fly know where it's going, or for that matter, why? Is its entire existence composed of instinctive wandering? Or is it rooted in the acquisition of food?_

Adam smiled. He knew another creature whose existence seemed dependant on food—his brother, Hoss. He chuckled, imagining Hoss walking mindlessly in search of his next meal.

"What's that you say?"

Discomfited by his actions, Adam adjusted his posture and quietly greeted the gentleman seated to his right with a slight smile.

Having paid attention to no more than the first twenty minutes of the Monoville town council's presentation, Adam felt confident in his response. "I said I don't believe I agree with our esteemed speaker."

The sandy-haired man snickered. "Can't say as I agree, either." Extending his hand, the man introduced himself. "Dawson McAllister."

Adam accepted the proffered hand. "Adam Cartwright."

Dawson's left eyebrow arched. "Of the Ponderosa Cartwrights?"

"That's what I've been told."

Dawson grinned. "So, you're here as a potential investor?"

"Absolutely not," Adam replied. "I am here because an acquaintance of an acquaintance asked my father to provide guidance in the town's so-called endeavor."

Dawson nodded and folded his arms. "I see. Your father passed the honor on to you."

"Honor?" Adam snorted. "That's an interesting choice of words for what appears to be a fool's folly of an idea." No sooner had the words left his lips than Adam regretted them— just slightly. He sat forward and turned toward Dawson. "Now it's me who's chosen his words poorly. If I've offended, please accept my apology."

Dawson waved his hand in the air. "No need, Mr. Cartwright. While I currently reside in Monoville, I assure you, I do not agree with the latest get rich scheme proposed by the town council."

Adam feigned indignation. "You don't think purchasing land on a nearby mountain, stripping the mountain of its trees, and destroying the watershed simply to supply Monoville's town owned mill is a viable plan?"

"Well," Dawson said casually, "when you put it that way!"

The men laughed, drawing glares and stares from several of those in attendance.

"You do realize," Dawson said, ignoring the situation, "there are three more speakers. And knowing the council members, it'll be too close to dinner time to continue after that."

Adam scratched his neck. "Where can a man get a nice, cold beer around here?"

"The Thirsty Cowboy Saloon."

"Really?"

"I'm afraid so."

Adam stood, confused that Dawson did not follow suit.

"You buyin'?" Dawson asked, folding his jacket over the crook in his arm. "Being a Cartwright and all."

Adam dipped his head. "Sounds fair."

Dawson took two steps, stopped, and turned. "Seeing as how it is getting late, and being a Cartwright, and all-"

"Dinner?"

"Why, how kind of you to ask." Dawson took three steps, stopped, smiled, and turned. "After that cold beer."

Adam's grin exposed a dimple.

Dawson's smile faded. "Do all you Cartwrights have those?"

"What?"

"Dimples."

Although the question seemed out of place, it was the strange tone in Dawson's voice and the brief, judgmental gleam in his eyes that nearly made Adam shiver.

Dawson's demeanor changed as quickly as it had before. "What about that cold beer?"

Adam paused, considering his reply. "Being a Cartwright," he said, 'I wouldn't have it any other way." Although they had just met, until that moment, Adam liked Dawson McAllister. But now, he wondered if the man had an agenda, and he planned on finding out.

As the two skirted their way out of the pew, the speaker continued his well rehearsed, overzealous proposal to the potential investors and good people of Monoville. At the end of the pew, Adam hesitated. Diptera. The fly, on his infinite quest, neared the rim at the end of the bench.

In front of him, Adam watched as Dawson slipped an arm into his jacket and pulled the rest to his other side. The fabric brushed swiftly against the pew's edge, knocking the defenseless fly to the ground.

Adam shook his head. He glanced around the church at the crowd, engrossed in the promise of quick fortune and future prosperity. _Instinct versus rational thought._

Tomorrow would bring the opportunity for him to present the Cartwrights' recommendation to the people of Monoville, and Adam knew he had the potential to insult their instincts and knock them to the ground. Men in search of immediate wealth could be as defenseless as a tiny fly. But Adam believed in what he planned to say. These were grown men and if they chose to ignore the obvious, so be it.

Sunrise without the promise of chores can be as unwelcome as a saddle burr on the way to a Sunday Box Social picnic.

 _Should've pulled the blinds when I got in last night._ Adam rolled over, facing away from the window's assaulting light. _Or was it this morning?_

For an upstart town—population seventy seven—morning certainly came early, and along with it, the bump and grind of wagon wheels, the cadence of horses' hooves, and several muffled greetings shouted from one side of the street below to the other.

 _Should have shut the window, too._ He snatched up the pillow next to him, covered his head, and groaned.

Later that morning, the meeting at the church would no doubt draw the same crowd, but it would be Adam who would address the crowd of potential investors, interested citizens, and the few remaining townsfolk who came for the spectacle often provided by a town council.

Beneath the down-filled pillow, Adam huffed. _Potential investors. A label the council assigned to the very people who elected them._ From what he'd seen the day before, Adam knew it was their way of asking for money they knew very well their constituents neither had to spare nor could obtain. Predicting the same, Adam had warned his father that their "invitation to advise" could easily become pressure to invest.

Tossing the pillow to the floor, he pounded his fists once against the mattress, pushed himself up, and swung his legs over the edge. Sitting directly in the sun's morning rays, he flexed his neck from side to side, rolled his shoulders, and took a deep breath. Suddenly, the promise of ranch chores back home sounded very, very appealing.

Adam washed, shaved, and dressed with no enthusiasm for the upcoming day. His breakfast at Gabe's Cafe consisted of two eggs, burned at the edges, four slices of undercooked bacon, two heavy, over-baked biscuits, and one cup of surprisingly good coffee. As he worked at buttering one of the biscuits, he thought back to dinner the night before.

He and Dawson had dined at the same restaurant where Adam was now seated. It was the only one still in business in Monoville.

Before he'd left the Ponderosa, Adam's father, Ben Cartwright, had spoken of the town's recent rapid decent toward ruin. Less than ten years ago, gold had been discovered in Monoville. The town and a handful of investors had decided hydraulic mining was the way to go. A conduit was constructed to divert water from Virginia Creek to aid the hydraulic operations. That waterway, named the Mono Canal, was at its time the only such project in the county, and building it cost all concerned a mere seventy-five-thousand dollars.

As he'd listened to his father's recollection of the events, Adam suddenly recalled having overheard a discussion ten years ago between his father and Oscar Jones, Virginia City's banker at the time. Adam had understood enough about hydraulic mining to know that once the mine was blasted and flooded and plucked clean of its treasure, what was left behind would be ugly, useless, and dangerous.

And now, as he sat at a corner table in Gabe's Cafe, Adam recalled a conversation from the night before—a conversation with Dawson McAllister over tough pot roast, lumpy mashed potatoes, and large slices of dry, strawberry rhubarb pie.

He had enjoyed the beer at the saloon and the time he'd spent with Dawson. What the food at the café lacked, the two men had made up in conversation. At least he'd thought so at the time. But now, staring into the coffee swirling as he stirred, Adam realized one thing. He'd done all the talking about Monoville's past and present situation. His new friend, Dawson, had simply agreed with all he'd said with little or no elaboration at all. Once again, Adam began to wonder about Dawson McAllister.

Adam finished his coffee and left a more than generous tip atop the paid bill. He started for the door, turning at the sound of the young waitress's voice.

"Excuse me, sir. There must be some mistake," she said, holding the paper bill and cash in her extended palm.

"I don't believe there's a problem," Adam said, stepping toward the woman who'd waited on him late the night before as well as early that morning.

"But, sir, there is too much money here."

Adam smiled. "The money is what I intended to leave. Thank you for your excellent attention."

The woman's eyes filled with tears.

Adam tipped his hat, spun on his heels, and started for the church.

Was it kindness that told him she needed the money? Or was it instinct that told him things in Monoville were doomed to get worse?


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

"It's your move." Ben righted himself, relieving the strain on his lower back. With two of his sons away from the ranch, he'd spent several days performing more physical chores than usual. Adam would return in a few days, but Joe would be gone for several more weeks. Perched on the edge of the burgundy chair, Ben waited, patiently at first, for Hoss' next move.

His middle son sat motionless, his lower lip curled, one side tucked beneath his upper teeth. In one fluid movement, he reached for his rook, grasping the top between his fingertips. The rook stayed put. Hoss's hand returned to his lap.

Ben's shoulders sagged. "Hoss, it's almost ten o'clock. I have to be in Virginia City tomorrow morning at eight o'clock. I'd like to finish this game before midnight."

Still staring at the chess board, Hoss propped an elbow atop his knee, settled his chin into his palm, and drummed his fingertips against his cheek.

"Hoss," Be growled, "will you please make a move?"

His father's tone startled him. "Huh? Oh, sorry, Pa." Once again, he reached for a chess piece, this time, hovering over his rook before moving toward his pawn.

"Son?"

Hoss flicked his wrist in the air and flopped back against the back of the settee. "Dadburnit, Pa, I wish Adam was here to talk me through this. You reckon he'll come walkin' through the door any time soon?"

Ben relaxed against the back of his chair. "Since the Monoville town council planned for three full days of discussion, and in view of the fact that Monoville is a three-day hard ride from here, and seeing as how Adam will be riding just four miles west of Carson City . . ."

"He ain't comin' home tonight."

"And we ain't finishing this chess game." Ben rose from the chair and stretched out his back. "I'm turning in for the night. Put out the lamps before you come up, son."

"Yes, sir," Hoss said, returning his gaze to the chess board.

"And Hoss . . ."

"Huh?"

Ben pointed to the large, pine table. "No cheating."

Hoss clutched his chest. "Pa, you're preachin' to the wrong son."

Ben winked and slapped Hoss's back. "Sleep well."

"Night, Pa."

Ben started up the staircase, rubbing his neck as he climbed. He'd reached the fifth step when there was a frantic rapping on the front door.

Hoss sprang to his feet and rushed to the credenza. In one fluid movement, he slid his pistol from the gun belt. As the rapping continued, he turned, ready to glance toward the staircase, expecting his father's approach. He didn't get the chance. Instead, he nearly ran into his father who already stood at his side.

Ben armed himself, his brow furrowed at the incessant banging.

Hoss cocked the hammer of his gun, then nodded to his father.

"Who's there?" Ben shouted, his gun at his side.

"Please, Mister Cartwright, let me in!"

The woman clearly knew where she was.

Ben and Hoss exchanged worried glances.

"It's a gal!" Hoss said softly.

Rap, rap, rap, rap, rap.

Ben turned the latch, and the woman nearly toppled into the house.

"I'm sorry, Mister Cartwright," she said breathlessly. "I didn't want to say anything more out there. I may have been followed."

"Someone's after you?" Ben asked, poking his head out the door before bolting it behind them.

"Yes. I mean, I think so. I mean, I'm not sure."

Hoss thought better of setting his gun aside and instead, strapped on his holster, all the while taking stock of their attractive, harried visitor.

Ben stepped toward her, offering the settee with a wave of his arm.

The woman's nod was tentative, but she gathered her skirts and walked to the chair.

"Hoss," Ben said, "see to her buggy."

The woman sat and then looked up at Ben. "Oh, I don't have a buggy"—she cleared her throat—"just a horse." She coughed into her gloved hand. "He's tethered outside."

Ben faced his son, who stood gaping at the woman. "I think the lady might appreciate a cup of coffee." He turned back to the woman. "Or would you prefer a brandy?"

Removing her gloves, the woman nodded. "Brandy would help, Mister Cartwright, if it's not too much trouble."

Ben thumped Hoss's chest, snapping him from his stupor. "Hoss."

"Huh? Oh, yeah, Pa?"

"Get the brandy and the glasses."

"Yes, sir."

Ben seated himself in his chair and considered the distraught woman on his sofa. She sat with her hands in her lap, her fingers fidgeting, and she looked everywhere except at her host. He was taken with her natural beauty. Blonde haired and blue eyed, her high, defined cheekbones gave the impression of a perpetual smile, but when she glanced up at him, he saw something in her eyes that he knew all too well. Fear.

The clang of the decanter against a glass startled the woman, and Ben gave his son a scornful look.

"Miss," Ben said softly, "you obviously know who I am. Who are you?"

Hoss lowered the silver tray, and the woman accepted the brandy without hesitation. Father and son watched as she downed the entire glass.

She forced a fleeting. "My name is Ann. Ann Reid."

Hoss knew the name, but struggled to place it.

Ben made the connection immediately. "I'm afraid Adam isn't here, Miss Reid, but Hoss and I will do whatever we can to help."

The mention of his older brother was the missing link for Hoss. This beautiful woman was someone from Adam's recent past.

"I know Adam's not here, Mister Cartwright." She turned the glass around and around in her hands. "I arrived in Virginia City this morning, and when I got off the stage, I overheard the sheriff talking to the driver. He said Adam Cartwright had gone to Monoville and he wasn't sure when to expect him."

"That's right," Ben said. "We don't expect him for at least three days."

"Good," Ann said softly. "I mean, if he isn't here, he's safe. But then . . ." Ann dropped her head into her hands and the brandy glass tumbled to the floor.

An alarm rang in Ben's ears. "I'm afraid I don't understand," he said, picking up the glass. "Is my son in some sort of danger?"

"Yes. I mean, I think so," Ann said. "Yes."

Ben sat forward in his chair. "Miss Reid, I think you'd better start from the beginning."

Ann knew she could trust Adam's father and brother, but suddenly, she felt every inch the female that she was. She inhaled deeply, but that only served to make her cough again. She stood, her knees nearly buckled, and she quickly lowered herself back onto the settee.

"I'm sure Adam told you what happened last year in Placerville." She didn't wait for a reply. "That a man I knew, Tom Burns, who looked just like Adam, said and did things using Adam's good name."

The thought of what Burns had put his son through shone on Ben's face. "Tom Burns nearly got my son hanged for murder."

"I know, and I'm sorry for my part in all of it." Ann blushed. "You see, Tom and I, well, I was foolish. Foolish and selfish."

Ben stiffened. "Yes, well, your testimony exonerated Adam in the end."

"It did," Ann said. "And Adam said he forgave me, but I can only imagine . . . As I was saying, Tom did things he shouldn't have. He was married to an awful woman named Valerie, and her brother, a man named Worth Silcott, was a friend of Tom's."

The mere mention of the woman's name was revealing—Ann had loved Tom Burns deeply.

"After Adam helped me search for Tom, and we found Tom's body, the charges against Adam were cleared. Adam and I, well, we went our separate ways. I found work in a nice place." Ann hung her head and wringed her hands. "That's not quite accurate. I was a barmaid in a tiny mining town called Belmont."

She dared to raise her head and was greeted by anxious looks from both Ben and Hoss.

"Two months after I started work there, someone ransacked my room at the boarding house, and a week after that, the bartender told me a strange man had come asking about me.

"Now, I know saloon girls draw the attentions of all sorts of men. Some are looking for companionship, most are looking for more. But this man asked about me more than once. Thanks to a few good people in Belmont, I learned that he asked if I was married, and if and I had been spending money I couldn't possibly have earned. I started getting a strong feeling that this man was following me everywhere I went."

Ann paused, letting the information settle.

She took a deep breath. "Mister Cartwright, my room was ransacked two more times, and one night, the bartender saw that man following me when I left work. He ran across the street and told the sheriff."

Even now, Ann's fear was palpable.

"By the time the sheriff got to my boarding house, I was standing in the corner of the room with a gun in my hand. You see, I knew the man was following me. I never saw him, but I felt his presence, you know?"

Ben nodded. "Did the sheriff catch the man?"

"No," she said, frustration in her tone. She stood and paced in front of the hearth. "Sheriff Markham said there was no evidence that I'd been followed, and that the bartender had exaggerated. He said a woman in my line of work couldn't help but draw the attention of lonely men, and if one of them had searched through my things, maybe I should find a new line of work."

"That ain't right," Hoss said.

"It may not be right," Ann said, "but it tends to be true."

Ben needed to hear more. "Please, continue, Miss Reid."

"Yes, of course. The next day, I had a dress fitting on Main Street. When I returned to my room, the door, which I know I had locked, was hanging open."

Captivated by her story, Hoss interrupted. "Did ya get the sheriff?"

"No, and I'm glad I didn't."

"I don't understand," Ben said.

"I went inside and the place had been ravaged again. My clothing was strewn about, my books laid torn apart in a pile on the floor, and my mattress was cockeyed on the frame. I turned to run, where, I'm not sure, and that's when I saw it."

"What?"

"This note." She reached into her blouse pocket and pulled out a slip of paper. She considered reading it aloud, but instead, handed it to Ben.

He took the paper, unfolded it, and silently read the first two lines.

"What's it say, Pa?"

Ben looked at his son, then back at the paper. "You have what's ours, and we aim to get it. That stupid sister of mine killed Tom, but you and Cartwright are why we don't have what's rightfully ours! We want our money, the money Tom hid before he died. We know he told you where it is."

Ben paused, and for a moment, he watched Ann pacing relentlessly.

"Valerie's dead," Ben continued. "I saw to that. And if you don't want to end up the same way, you'll get the money. And just to be sure you do, we'll be paying a visit to Adam Cartwright.

"Get the money, and when you have it, bring it to the mine. You know the one. We'll be watching."

Ben folded the paper and settled back in his chair. Ann stopped pacing, fearful of his silence.

"What are we gonna do, Pa?" Hoss asked softly.

The silence broken, Ann hurried to Ben and bent down next to his chair.

"I swear," she pleaded, "I don't know anything about the stolen money. I knew Tom had been in prison, but we never talked about any money." Her tone changed. "Mister Cartwright, I had to come here. I had to warn Adam."


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

The smell of the morning's ritual incense was fading, and as Hop Sing finished writing his monthly letter to his brother back in China, he was certain he detected the inviting aroma of freshly brewed coffee.

He signed the letter, slipped it into an envelope, placed it on his bedside table, and shuffled to his bedroom door. Once open, he frowned. Someone in the household hadn't slept well, and over his many years of service, that usually meant trouble for the Cartwrights.

He lit the oil lamp just outside his room, turning the wick slightly to brighten his Ponderosa kitchen. He squinted as he glanced around the room. Everything was as he'd left it the night before except for one thing– the coffee pot was missing. Quietly, he walked down the short hallway and entered the dining room.

The early light of dawn shone through the unshuttered window. Seated at the table was Ben Cartwright, Hop Sing's employer and friend. Swirling a spoon in his coffee, Ben hadn't noticed the Chinaman's approach.

"Mister Cartwright wake up before Hop Sing. Wake up with sun."

Ben set the spoon on the saucer. "You have to go to sleep to wake up."

Hop Sing moved closer, seeking his bosses face. "What wrong? he asked. "Why you no sleep?"

"I'm afraid that would be my fault."

Ben and Hop Sing were drawn to the husky, female voice coming from the second floor if the Ponderosa ranch house.

Ann continued down the stairs. When she walked into the dining room, Ben stood and Hop Sing bobbed his head in greeting.

"Hop Sing," Ben said as he pulled offered her a chair, "this is Ann Reid. She, uh, arrived late last night and will be staying with us for a while."

"Hop Sing happy to meet Missy Reid. Pretty lady make Ponderosa very happy place."

Ann forced a smile. "Thank you, Hop Sing. It's a pleasure to meet you." She nodded her thanks to Ben, took a seat, and allowed him to push her closer to the table.

Pointing to the window, Hop Sing smiled and said, "Sun awake. Start breakfast now." He stepped toward the hallway, then addressed Ann. "First, bring cup for Missy Reid's morning coffee."

"Thank you, Hop Sing," Ben said as he took his seat.

Ann folded her hands atop the dining table. "Given the circumstances of my visit, can I assume, Mister Cartwright, that you didn't sleep well either?"

Ben's smile was faint. "You assume correctly, Miss Reid."

"Please, Mister Cartwright," she said, "call me Ann."

"All right, and you may call me Ben."

"All right."

They both smiled, but the tense awkwardness lingered. The silence that followed didn't help, but just as Ben started to speak, he and Ann heard the sound of a bedroom door closing on the second floor. Hoss, too, was up at the crack of dawn.

As Hoss came downstairs, Hop Sing returned from the kitchen carrying a tray loaded with two cups and a small pitcher of milk. He glanced at the staircase and then placed the tray on the table. "Hop Sing have feeling middle son also early riser today." He stepped away from the table and looked over at Hoss. "Breakfast ready in ten minute. Flapjack, warm, maple syrup, scramble eggs, and plenty crispy bacon."

"Nothin' for me, Hop Sing." Hoss walked directly to the credenza and strapped on his gun belt.

"Why you no eat?" Hop Sing asked.

"I've got to get to Virginia City." Hoss reached for his hat and then walked to the dining tale. "Ma'am," he said with a nod before turning to his father. "I'll be back as soon as I can, Pa."

Ann watched Ben closely. It was obvious he and Hoss had a plan in mind, but before she could ask about it, Hoss was out the door.

"Hop Sing," Ben said flatly, "please see to breakfast."

The Chinaman knew when to excuse himself, and this was one of those times. He bowed slightly in Ann's direction. "Missy like breakfast menu?"

"Oh, yes, Hop Sing," Ann said, mustering a half-smile. "It all sounds wonderful, especially the bacon. I just love crispy bacon."

The early hour failed to discourage the crowd gathered at The Mission Church in Monoville. Adam stood at the back of the night-chilled building, scanning the crowd for Dawson McAllister. Amid the drone of discussion, Adam heard bits and pieces of conversation, all of which seemed to support Monoville's purchase—and subsequent destruction—of the nearby mountainside.

Adam shook his head and leaned against the wall. He knew his father would support the idea of the land buy. Proper lumbering would mean lesser immediate profit, but a longer period of steady income for the town. But the future the council had planned for that land was something he and his father and brothers could not support.

He'd come prepared to speak sensibly to the gathered townspeople, to paint the picture of inevitable destruction that would befall a rapidly stripped mountainside. Would they listen? Some would. Would they heed his warning? From what he'd seen and heard the day before, and what he was hearing now, he highly doubted it.

A group of six men entered through the propped church door. Dawson McAllister led the way, but it soon became apparent he wasn't a part of the group—five seated themselves in the last pew, and Dawson stood alone in the aisle, scanning the church until he spotted Adam.

The two nodded to one another, and Dawson took his place in the back at Adam's side.

"You ready for this, Adam?"

"I'm ready for it to be over."

Dawson chuckled and nodded his head. "Can't say as I blame you."

Just then, the mayor of Monoville, a man Dawson had pointed out to Adam, strode to the back of the church and closed the large pine door. The crowd settled as the mayor made his way down the aisle to the podium. Adam straightened and steeled himself for what he hoped would be a ten minute speech and a brief question session afterward. If all went as expected, he'd begin the three day ride home before noon. The mayor brought the room to order, and after a few words, introduced Adam Cartwright of the Ponderosa.

His presentation had gone as expected. The townspeople were polite, keeping their emotions in check—for a short minute. When Adam spoke of the destruction of the watershed, the probable weather changes, and the devastation of wildlife, the crowd was quick to voice their uninformed disagreement. Several times Adam had paused, hoping the shouted accusations would die down. They did not. And by the time he surrendered to the raucous group, his ideals had been criticized and the Cartwright name had been dragged through muck and mire, alike. The instinct of self-preservation knows no decorum.

Adam stepped away from the podium and glared at the mayor as he passed by. Heading for the door, Adam was greeted with silent scowls and shouts emphasized by finger pointing and an occasional shaking fist.

He burst through the church door, silently cursing his father for having sent him instead of taking on the deed himself. Part of Adam's anger, though, stemmed from the fact that Monoville would buy the land, strip it, and destroy a small part of California's mountainside. In truth, he admitted as he stomped away down the street, was the fact that his failure had let his father down.

Dawson squeezed by several men and followed Adam from the church. He caught up to him near the entrance to the town's only saloon.

"It's a little early for that, isn't it?" Dawson asked, falling into step next to Adam.

"Yes."

"Mind if I join you?"

"No."

Dawson did a double-step, trying to keep up with Adam. "No, you don't mind, or no, don't join me?"

Adam stopped abruptly, shoved his fists to his hips, and shot a seething look at his friend.

Dawson cocked his head, a smile tugging at his lips. "Therein lays your problem."

"Wh-what?" Adam sputtered.

"You should have used the Cartwright dimple. I hear it works every time."


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four

How and why it happened, he wasn't quite sure, but he'd already sent a wire to his father and the dead was done.

After picking up supplies at the Monoville Mercantile, Adam and Dawson rode side by side out of town. Adam still had doubts that offering Dawson McAllister a job on the Ponderosa was the right thing to do. He liked the man that shared so many of his beliefs. They'd become fast friends in Monoville, and his instincts told him the friendship could continue. Still, there were moments when Adam couldn't shake the feeling that Dawson McAllister wasn't all he professed to be . . .

"How much further?"

Adam laughed aloud, squatting at the campfire he'd just brought to flame.

"Seriously, Adam," Dawson said, "tell me again why we didn't have lunch in Monoville before we left?"

Adam scratched behind his left ear. "Because my constitution couldn't take another so-called meal at Gabe's Café."

Dawson sat on the ground and leaned back against his saddle. "And, where did you say you learned to cook?"

Adam opened a small pouch and sprinkled a bit of its contents into the beans in the skillet. "Well now, let's see. First, there was Inger, my father's second wife."

"In my experience,"—Dawson folded his arms—"mother's don't usually school their sons in the culinary arts."

"That's true, unless you spend thirteen months with a wagon train. Everyone, even the male children, have to chip in and do their part."

Dawson sat upright and snatched up a handful of sandy soil. He watched as it trickled between his fingers. "You weren't born in Nevada Territory?"

Adam stirred the beans, holding the handle with a padded grip. "I was born in New England."

Dawson continued his fascination with the sand, scooping handful after handful and watching the cascade of grains. "You said your father's second wife."

"Yes, I did. My mother died the day I was born."

"Oh, I'm sorry."

"My father and I started for Nevada when I was only a few weeks old. He met Inger along the way," he said, staring into the skillet, "and as they say, the rest is history."

"Your beans are burning," Dawson said matter-of-factly.

Adam startled, pulled the skillet from the flame, and quickly scooped the beans onto two plates. "Slightly charred beans are still better than Gabe's Café." He handed a plate to Dawson. "By the way, I ate two days' worth of meals there and never once did I see Gabe."

Dawson filled his mouth, chewed a bit, and replied, "Story is that Gabe was a woman."

"A woman?"

"Yes. Gabriel. She named her place "Gabe's" so the rowdy miners of early Monoville would behave themselves in her establishment. If they thought there was a Gabe in the back, they wouldn't be as apt to cause trouble. What did you put in these beans, anyway?"

Adam grinned. "Can't handle it?"

"Oh, no, I like it hot."

"You ever meet this Gabriel?"

"No, I told you I lived in Monoville, but what I didn't tell you is that I'd only just moved there. I was a resident of the fair hole-in-the-wall for a total of eleven weeks."

"I see," Adam said. As he scraped the last of the beans from his plate, he thought back to the conversations he'd had with Dawson. It was true—the man had never said how long he'd lived in Monoville. And Adam began to wonder what else he'd discover in the three day ride to the Ponderosa.

Had the reason for the ride been different, it would have been pleasant—Hoss enjoyed being out in the open during the early morning hours. But Adam's life had been threatened, and it was time to enlist the help of Virginia City's sheriff.

Hoss tethered his horse, Chubb, in front of the jailhouse. He brushed the trail dust from his trouser legs as he hurried up the stairs. When he went inside, he was immediately greeted by Sheriff Roy Coffee.

"Well, Hoss Cartwright, what brings you to town so early?" the sheriff asked, stepping around his desk.

"Roy, we've got a bit of a situation out at the Ponderosa."

Roy, a long-time friend of the Cartwrights, sat on the edge of his desk and folded his arms at his chest. "Suppose you tell me all about it. I'll do whatever I can to help."

Before passing along the events of the night before, Hoss reminded Roy of the time Adam had spent tracking down his doppelganger, Tom Burns. Roy recalled the situation, and added that he had been relieved when the charges against Adam had been dropped.

Roy listened intently, and when Hoss handed him the letter that had been left in Ann's room, he read it eagerly.

"And you say this Miss Reid is at your place right now?"

"Yes, sir. Pa asked me to fill you in and give you the letter. We figured it'd be best to keep Miss Reid out of sight."

"I believe you're right."

"Roy," Hoss said, "Adam's been in Monoville the past few days, talkin' to the people 'bout some land deal."

"I knew he was there, but you're tellin' me he knows nothing about this?"

"That's right."

"Hoss, if Tom Burns' gang was able to find Miss Reid in Belmont-"

"You reckon they can find Adam, too."

Roy nodded solemnly. "I'd send a wire to the law in Monoville, but Hoss, they've got no law. They had a sheriff for a while, but when the mines closed and the town couldn't pay him, he took a position somewhere in Utah" He slid from his desk's edge. "Son, we've got to let Adam know what's going on. He needs to keep an eye out for trouble. I'd best get a few wires off right away."

"There's a problem, Roy. Ya see, Adam's part in the meetin's in Monoville ended this mornin', and knowin' my older brother, he didn't waste a minute leavin' that town."

Roy walked around to his chair. He sat, considering their options.

"There's six ways to Sunday to ride from Monoville to the Ponderosa. You got any idea which way Adam's likely to take?"

Hoss looked more worried than before as he shook his head.

"That's a problem, Hoss. A big problem."

Several pressing letters, columns of un-figured numbers, and dozens of papers shy of signatures sat untouched on Ben's desk. He hadn't slept, had barely eaten his breakfast, and had spent most of the morning ignoring his own fears in favor of trying to calm his nervous houseguest. Truth be told, he needed the distraction—the missing, stolen money was the only bargaining chip they had, and although he Adam could be safe and sound and on his way home, Ben couldn't shake the feeling that Worth Silcott and his gang may have already found his son.

"Would you care for another cup of coffee?" Ben asked.

Ann stopped pacing. The handkerchief she had been wringing for the past ten minutes was suddenly stretched from end to end. "No, thank you." Once again, she fell into step, walking the length of the living room and back.

Ben moved into her path, and she nearly bumped into him.

"Oh, I'm sorry," she said, "I-"

"Ann, you can't keep this up. You've got to sit down."

Reluctantly, she allowed Ben to lead her to the settee.

"I'm sorry. I just feel as if I should be doing something, anything!" She looked into Ben's eyes. "I'm keeping you from your work, aren't I?" she asked, managing a brief smile here and there.

The worry on Ben's face was her answer.

She stood, covered her face with her hands, and began to pace—again. "Of course, work is the last thing on your mind." She rubbed her temples. "Oh, I'm making things worse. I'm sorry for getting Adam wrapped up in my mess, again, and I'm sorry for bringing it to your doorstep." Abruptly, she sat on the hearth and waved toward the front door. "Where is Hoss, anyway?"

Ben moved next to Ann and took her hands in his. "Hoss is just as worried as we are. He'll do everything he can, with Sheriff Coffee's help, and I guarantee he'll ride hard to get back to the Ponderosa."

Ann smiled through the awkward moment of pulling her hands away from Ben's. She appreciated his kindness, but under the circumstances, in her heart, she didn't feel worthy of it.

"Do you really think we can warn Adam?"

"Yes, I do," Ben said, hoping to convince himself as well as Ann.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter Five

Finding volunteers to search for Adam was easier than Hoss expected, and although he offered money to each man for their trouble, none accepted.

Answers arrived quickly to the wires sent by Sheriff Coffee. By the time he returned to the jailhouse, the office was crowded with men waiting to be deputized. The sheriff thanked them, swore them to service, and then took a seat at his desk.

"Men, I have a wire here sent by Adam from Monoville."

Urgency nearly consumed Hoss. "From Adam? What's it say?"

"It's addressed to your pa, Hoss, but given the situation-"

"Read it, Roy. Pa ain't gonna mind."

Roy slipped on his spectacles and looked over the telegram. "According Adam, he left Monoville mid-morning. Says he'll fill your pa in when he gets home. Also says he hired a friend to work on the ranch."

Hoss stood taller. "A friend? Adam never mentioned having a friend in Monoville."

"I thought of that, Hoss, so I sent a second wire to the hotel manager. He did some checking, and he said the livery owner said Adam and a man named Dawson McAllister were laughing together when Adam picked up his horse. He also overheard Adam telling this McAllister he'd love working on the Ponderosa."

Hoss wasn't entirely convinced, but he knew his brother. Adam was a good judge of character. That, and the fact that Adam was headed south from Monoville, was promising.

Hoss relaxed—a little. "That leaves out two of the possible routes back to the Ponderosa. I'll take any little bit of good news I can get."

Roy nodded and picked up two more telegrams. "Now, these wires are from the banks Burns and his gang robbed a few years back." He looked over the top of his reading glasses. "Seems they stole a total of $50,000 dollars from five different banks across the territories."

Several of the men whistled their disbelief amid the murmurs of the others, but it was Hoss's silent reaction that the sheriff noticed most—$50,000 was more than incentive enough to commit murder.

Hoss pressed his palms against the sheriff's desk. "You got one more wire there, Roy. What's that one say?"

Roy removed his glasses. "That one's for your pa, Hoss." He placed the glasses on the pile of telegrams and stood, addressing the deputies eager to ride in search of Adam "I think you'll all agree, the sooner we find Adam, the better.

"Now men, I know I'm askin' you to give up six days of your time. That's a lot, and I'm sure Hoss here and the rest of the Cartwrights will be forever grateful. I've set up an account over at the Mercantile. Just see Brody when you go in, and he'll keep track of whatever supplies you need." Roy waved a hand in Hoss's direction. "The Cartwrights are gonna take care of the bill." He walked around to the front of his desk and leaned back against the edge. "You'll be paired up, and each pair will take one of the known trails from the Ponderosa to Monoville."

Hoss stepped forward. "What if Adam decides to stop over in Carson? It ain't d'rectly on any of them trails."

Roy nodded. "I've sent a wire to the sheriff in Carson. He'll see to it that each and every hotel, rooming house, boarding house, and livery with a back room is on the look out for Adam. If he shows up in Carson, I'll be the second one to know it."

Satisfied, Hoss stepped back.

"Henry," Roy said, "you know the area around Washoe Road south of Carson like the back of your hand. You and Steve take that route."

Both Henry and Steve nodded.

"Elmore, you and Walter head on down to Eagle Rock and take the rim trail north to Monoville."

"Yes, sir," Elmore said.

"Now, I know its unlikely Adam would take the Donner Pass"—Roy smiled slightly—"but Hoss here says his brother's been known to stretch his time when he's in no hurry to get home. Josh, you and Delany make for the pass."

The two men were quite pleased. It had been a year since they'd seen their sister, and they'd stop for a visit once they knew Adam was safe and sound.

"That leaves Clem and Sam," Roy said. "The most direct route is yours. You two should get to Monoville before anyone else.

"Now, I want each of you to send me a wire when you get there, then wait to hear back from me. Any questions?" Roy didn't expect any, and he was right.

Eager to find their friend, the men left quickly, but not before Hoss thanked each one and reminded them to watch their backs—Silcott and his gang were out there somewhere, and so was the missing $50,000.

When the last of the posse left the jailhouse, Hoss turned to Sheriff Coffee. "You gonna tell me what's in that last telegram?"

"I don't think your pa will mind." Roy reached across the desk and picked up the paper "This is from the U.S. Marshal's office in San Francisco."

"U.S. Marshals?"

"That's right. Seems the marshals have been watching Worth Silcott, keeping track of his visitors at the prison."

"And?"

"And he's had a few recently; a dark-haired woman thought to be Silcott's gal, and several members of the gang Tom Burns and Silcott ran."

"You mean the whole gang ain't in jail?"

"'Fraid not, Hoss."

"Then it might've been one of them varmints wrote the note to Ann. We'd best get back to the Ponderosa." Hoss tucked the wire into his vest pocket and started for the jailhouse door.

Roy took hold of Hoss's arm. "I won't say this in front of Miss Reid, but I want you and your pa to keep an eye on her."

"Of course we will, Roy. Ain't nothin' gonna happen to her."

"That's not what I mean. She says she doesn't know a thing about the stolen money."

"That's right, Hoss said."

"Well, son, I'd like to believe the lady. But we're talkin' about $50,000 and Adam's life here, and considerin' most of the men she's associated with in the past, you and your pa have to consider the lady may not be tellin' the truth."

For a few brief seconds, the tit, tit, tit of the combination lock spinner settled his nerves. Ben knew he could raise the $50,000—should the need arise. The statements and contracts he'd removed from the Ponderosa safe were more than enough to guarantee the money. As he turned away from the safe, the anxious woman seated next to the fire, staring into the flames, roused his anxiety yet again.

"Ann . . . Ann."

She flinched and sprang to her feet.

"It's all right," Ben said, crossing the room. "I just wondered if you'd mind getting some coffee. Hop Sing's out back in the garden, and I'd enjoy a cup, if you don't mind."

Ann managed a smile. "You're trying to find something to occupy my time." She passed by Ben, touching his arm as she did. "And I thank you for that."

"You're welcome. And I would like some coffee."

"Of course," she said as she disappeared into the hallway.

Ben returned to his desk and rifled through his papers. He made three small piles, adding their worth in his head as he went. The sound of hooves in the yard drew him to the window, and he hurried to the front door to greet Hoss and Sheriff Coffee.

The three men sat in the living room, Ben listening carefully to the plan Roy and Hoss had set in motion. His heart swelled to learn of the men who'd volunteered to find Adam, but it was the news that two U.S. Marshals were tracking Silcott and his gang that brought a smile to his weary face.

Ben agreed with Roy's plan, but when Hoss delivered the news that Adam had left Monoville in the company of a "friend," Ben shared his son's concerns.

"The livery man was sure Adam left of his own free will," Roy said. "In fact, he said Adam and McAllister were laughing and joking. And knowin' Adam, I can see him offering a job to someone he likes."

"Yes," Ben agreed, "but Roy, don't you think this is too much of a coincidence?"

Hoss tried to reassure his father—and himself. "Pa, just 'cause Adam's ridin' home from Monoville with someone we ain't met-"

"Adam's with a stranger?" Ann cried from the dining room.

The crash startled the men, sending them all to their feet. Hoss nearly knocked the blue velvet chair to the floor, and Roy's hand flew right to his gun.

"Oh, no! Adam!"

The tray of coffee and cups lay shattered at her feet.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter Six

"It's getting late. You about done?" Adam asked.

"I thought you'd never ask. My saddle's been tryin' to throw me for the last five miles."

Adam grinned. "There's a little spot on the other side of the bend up ahead. I camped there on my way to Monoville."

"That was, what, three days ago?"

"Give or take."

Dawson arched his back and groaned. "There wouldn't be a nice, soft bed in this little spot of yours, would there?"

"Afraid not."

Dawson tilted his head left, then right. His neck cracked. "Any chance there's a big copper tub filled with steaming hot water?"

"Not a chance."

"No lovely lady to scrub my back?"

"Nope."

Dawson shot Adam a disgruntled expression. "This, sir, is the last time I check into your little spot."

Adam laughed, and his dimples blossomed.

"There you so again, flashing those Cartwright dimples."

Adam reined Sport to the left, rounding the bend in the trail. Dawson followed at his side.

"What is it about my dimples that bother you so?" Adam asked.

"Just teasing you, friend. I meant no harm." Dawson waited for a reply, but when Adam offered none, he continued, "I had a friend, a real good friend. He had the same dimples. He always managed to get the girls. I always wanted dimples."

Adam shivered and pulled his collar up around his neck. "What happened to your friend?"

Dawson stared straight ahead. "He died."

Within the hour, their horses had been watered at a nearby stream and left to graze, tethered in the early evening shade. With a quickly-fashioned fishing line, Adam stood along the pebble-covered stream bank. The water level his time of year was high, and he hoped to hook a trout or two for their dinner. He'd cast his line three times, the third landing it just where he wanted. He scraped his boot along the rocky ground, making a comfortable place to sit. His line floated along, and he hoped it wouldn't be long before he had a nibble. The early evening breeze had cooled the air, and Adam looked forward to a pleasant night's sleep. His line bobbed, and he straightened, easing it closer to shore. A snapping sound drew his attention, and he searched the countryside for the source. The hair on his neck prickled as he looked around, but there was nothing to be seen as far as the eye could see.

"You're becoming paranoid in your old age," Adam thought. But he couldn't completely rid himself of the feeling that he was being watched.

At the campsite, Dawson rummaged through his saddlebag, searching for his box of matches. He'd already restored the fire site Adam had left behind days before, and he'd promised Adam the fire would be ready when he returned with his catch.

Dawson whistled as he coaxed the flame, and by the time he reached his second chorus of "Oh Believe Me, If All Those Endearing Young Charms," the fire was set for the coffee pot and the cast iron frying pan.

He opened the coffee pouch and scooped the coarsely ground beans into the pot. After unscrewing his canteen, he poured the water in and hung the pot on the fire hook. As he tied the strings of the pouch, the song continued, and Dawson tapped his toe to the beat.

He and Adam had already laid out their bedrolls with their saddles positioned as pillows. Dawson adjusted his, tucking the saddlebags under the leather and straightening his blanket, and when he stood, he saw Adam in the distance, climbing up the stream bank with two fish on the end of his line.

"Well, it's about time," Dawson shouted. "I was beginning to think you fell in."

"Not this time." Adam trudged closer, stepping around thick tree trunks and dodging jagged rocks.

"This time? You mean-"

"Long story," Adam said with a wave of his hand. He thrust the fish against Dawson's chest. "I caught, you clean."

"With pleasure." Dawson admired the trout he held high in the air. "Coffee's ready."

"Don't mind if I do." Adam knelt next to the fire, wrapped a thick cloth around his hand, grasped the hot handle of the pot, and poured himself a cup.

Dawson knelt, laid Adam's catch across a flat-topped rock, and plunged his knife into one of the fish.

Adam sipped his coffee and nodded his approval. "Where'd you learn to make good coffee?"

"I've spent my share of time on the trail," Dawson said as he continued to fillet the trout. "Picked up a few tips here and there in my travels." He started on the second fish, using his knife with ease. "Chickory. I add chickory. It mellows the coffee."

Adam cast him a sideways glance. "I'm on the trail with a man of unique talents."

"Yes you are, my friend." Dawson made a spectacle of wrist rolls and arm sweeps as he continued cleaning the trout. "Not only do I brew a magnificent pot of coffee, but I am expert at the science of fish cleaning."

Adam laughed at the display.

Dawson carried the fish to the campfire, placed them into the cast iron skilled, and set the pan over the flame. "And now, I will amaze you with my culinary skills."

"I must say"—Adam gestured with a wave of his hand and a bow of his head—"I'm looking forward to Chef McAllister's evening fare."

The men laughed aloud. Adam settled down onto his bedroll, propping his head with his hands and crossing ankles. "You know, Dawson, I think my brothers are going to like you."

Dawson stabbed a trout with a fork and flipped it over. "Hoss and . . . John was it?"

"Hoss and Little Joe. He prefers to be called Little Joe."

"Really?"

Adam smirked.

"And what about your father? Do you think he'll approve of the latest addition to the bunk house?"

Adam scrunched his mouth and squinted his eyes. "Well . . . you think for yourself, take initiative when it's called for, and you can fillet a fish in record time."

"So, I'm in?"

Adam smiled. "You're in."

The trout was flaky, the coffee was smooth, and the conversation was easy. Before turning in for the night, Adam checked on the horses while Dawson washed the dishes in the stream. The smoke from the campfire dwindled as the cooler night breeze set in, and before long, the men had burrowed into their bedrolls—Adam with his extra blanket pulled beneath his chin and Dawson with his hat covering his face.

Anxious to make good time, they'd agreed that the first one awake in the morning would rouse the other, and Adam had suggested they plan on stopping in _ for lunch and a cold beer before riding on.

It wasn't long before Dawson began snoring softly. Adam rolled to his side, covered his head with his blanket, and drifted off.

The mournful call of a coyote coaxed Adam from his sleep. He rolled onto his back and was greeted by a kink in his neck. He huffed, sat up, and rubbed circles at the knot. A three-quarter moon shone just enough light, and he glanced at the horses, relieved the coyote hadn't excited them.

Stretching his arms to the side, he rolled his shoulders and winced when his neck cracked. The knot eased, and he lay back down and reached for the edge of his blanket. It was at that moment he realized Dawson McAllister was not in his bedroll.

Adam sat up once again and pushed himself to his feet. "Dawson," he called softly.

There was no reply.

Adam knew there were reasons for going off in the night while camping, and a man deserved his privacy when nature called, but something he couldn't put his finger on niggled at him, and he did his best to stay awake until Dawson returned.

He wasn't sure how long he lay there waiting, but he'd felt the heaviness of sleep taunting him for quite some time. A rustling in the sagebrush to the west sparked his attention, and he raised his head and gripped the pistol at his side.

The man approaching made no attempt at subtlety, but in the darkness, Adam took aim.

"Who's there?" Adam called.

"It's just me, Cartwright," Dawson replied. He flopped against his bedroll and shoved his legs inside. "Shouldn't have washed down that trout with three cups of coffee."

Adam slid his gun back in place and took a deep breath.

"You always this jumpy under the stars?" Dawson asked.

Adam sank back against his saddle. "Must be the chickory."


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter Seven

"Adam's out there somewhere, and so's Worth Silcott 'n' his gang." Hoss shoved his breakfast plate to the center of the table. "Ain't there somethin' else we can do, Pa?"

Ben shared his son's feelings of helplessness. "Don't you think I'd rather be out there looking for Adam myself?" His barked reply didn't help.

Ben plunged his spoon into the sugar bowl and poured the grains into his cup. He stirred with purpose, splashing his coffee over the sides and onto the saucer, and then dropped the spoon against the plate before pushing it away with a sigh. "I'm sorry, Hoss. This waiting game's getting to me, too."

Although he meant what he'd said, Hoss regretted further upsetting his father. "I'm sorry, too, Pa."

"Like Roy said, without knowing which way Adam's taking to get home, we'd have a one in four chance of being on the wrong trail." Ben stared at his fingertips as they drummed against the table. "We agreed its best you and I stay put."

Hoss wanted to ease his father's anxiety. He noted the third breakfast plate on the table. "Pa, when Adam got back from Placerville and that whole mess with Ann, he told us he how he felt about her. Remember?"

Ben nodded.

"I think Adam would want us to stay here 'n' make sure nothin' bad happens to that gal, don't you?"

Ben tried to smile. "You're right, Hoss. But it doesn't make the waiting and not knowing any easier."

Running a ranch fills the hours, but it's the minutes that can seem endless. The day was just like any other; by early evening, they'd gone through all the motions. But for Ben, Hoss, and Ann, the day's accomplishments meant nothing. Adam was still out there, and he was ignorant of impending danger.

For two days, Ann hadn't been left alone. Even when she closed her bedroom door for privacy, either Ben or Hoss had stayed alert nearby. Ann felt safe, but she had no idea the feeling wasn't entirely mutual.

Late that afternoon, Hoss found her seated on the settee, unable to hide her disinterest in the book in her hands. Ben sat at his desk, the payroll ledger open, a pencil in his hand.

"I'm headed to the barn, Pa," Hoss announced, hoping his father would play along. "I promised Joe I'd keep an eye on Cochise. She ain't been too happy with her feed these past two days."

Ben was on his feet. "You think there's a problem with Joe's horse?"

Hoss stepped between Ben and the settee, blocking Ann's view of his father's face.

Hoss's eyes steered Ben in Ann's direction. "I think ole Cooch is missin' Little Joe 's all," he said, winking frantically at his father. "Might be she just needs some company."

Ben nodded. "I think you might be right, son. Cochise does enjoy a gentle touch from time to time." He walked to the back of the settee. "Uh"—he softly cleared his throat—"maybe Ann would enjoy a breath of fresh air."

Hoss stepped beside his father. "But Pa, the barn ain't exactly what I'd call fresh air."

Ann swallowed a giggle as she stood and faced the men. "I'd love some fresh air, from here to the barn, and I'd like to meet Little Joe's horse."

Hoss smiled and quickly put on his gun belt. After opening the door, he stepped outside and nodded to the two hands standing watch in the yard. He went back to the door and announced the all clear. Together, Ann and Hoss strolled to the barn, Hoss ever at the ready.

Ben stood in the doorway until they were safely inside the barn. He closed the door and smiled. What Hoss lacked in subtlety he more than made up for in compassion.

Although he'd used Cochise as a ruse, Hoss was right—with Joe gone, the horse had shown signs of restlessness.

Ann entered the barn, with Hoss right behind. She introduced herself to Cochise and impressed Hoss by naming the other two horses; Adam had described them well.

Hoss folded his arms at his chest." It's been more 'n a year since you 'n' . . . well, since Adam told you about our horses."

"Mm hm." She reached up and rubbed Cochise's muzzle.

"'N' you remembered which name goes with what horse?"

"I remember everything Adam said." The words left her lips with no conscious thought, and she blushed. "What I mean is-"

"I reckon I know whatcha mean," Hoss said, brushing his horse. "Most gals remember what Adam tells 'em."

Adam's words weren't the only thing Ann remembered; she remembered his lips against hers.

Hoss noticed her cheeks. "You all right?" he asked. "It is a might warm today, but we ain't been out here that long."

"Oh, I'm fine, Hoss." She smiled and busied herself with Cochise. "I was just thinking . . . I was just thinking that any gal who doesn't hang on your every word is a fool."

Hoss reddened. "Guess it is a might warm in this here barn."

The two made small talk and fussed with the horses for half an hour, but that small talk soon came to an unintentional end.

"Me," Hoss said, "I'm happier than a drunk in a still barrel." Again, Hoss blushed. "Pardon me, ma'am."

Ann laughed. "I'm a barmaid, remember? And from what I've seen over the years, you must be very happy here on the ranch."

"I am. Happier than . . . happy!"

Chuckling softly, Ann walked out of the stall and took a seat on a milking stool. She watched as Hoss treated his horse to a handful of oats. Looking around the barn, she couldn't help but picture Adam, his brothers, and their father working side by side. "And what about Adam?" she asked. "Is he as happy here as you are?"

Hoss stepped into the opening. He'd heard the anxious tone in Ann's voice, and her face matched it perfectly. "I reckon you'd have to ask Adam that question."

She'd done it again—let a glimpse of her heart float out with her words. She folded her hands in her lap and looked down at the ground. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to pry."

Hoss paused, grabbed a large stool, and set it across from Ann. He sat down, crossed his ankles, and leaned back against a post. "Are you happy? I mean, not right now, not with Silcott 'n' his gang 'n' all. I mean, are you happy bein' a barmaid in a little town?"

Drawn to the sincerity of Hoss's eyes, Ann her defenses waned. "I'm not sure I've ever been happy. Content? To a measure. But happy"—she pulled herself from his gaze—"I don't think so."

"I can't even imagine never feelin' happy." Hoss rocked his crossed ankles back and forth. "You're not like a lot o' gals. You're braver 'n most." With his arms still crossed, he leaned forward on the stool. "Seems to me you can make happiness, if you really want it."

Ann's weak smile and uneasy chuckle told Hoss he'd hit a nerve.

"I've tried, Hoss. But you see, I'm not always a good judge of character. I've wanted after the wrong man more than once."

"That don't mean ya gotta settle for bein' . . . What was it you said?"

"Content."

"That's it," Hoss said. He relaxed back against the post. "What exactly do you mean by bein' content?"

"Oh, I guess it's knowing I'm alone and accepting it."

Hoss sat forward and propped his elbows on his knees. "You mean you like bein'alone all the time?"

"Oh, but you see, I'm not always alone." Ann stood and crossed the barn. She stroked Ben's horse, Buck, with both hands. "Barmaids have more than their share of company. Sometimes it's easy, friendly company"—she pressed her chest against Buck and rested her head—"but mostly, its whiskey breath and unbathed skin, prickly faces and dirty clothing." She turned toward Hoss. "And then there are the clean ones, dandies with money in their pockets and a poker game whispering their name. Those are the ones full of themselves; the ones who refuse to take no for an answer."

"If you don't mind my askin', which kinda man was Tom Burns?"

The question rocked Ann. Although she regretted most of what she'd made—or failed to make—of her life, to a point, she wouldn't change a thing. Doing so would have deprived her of meeting Tom, and even after all she'd been through because of him, she felt he had been her one chance at happiness.

With all she'd confessed, she felt she owed Hoss an answer. "Tom Burns was the first nice man I ever met. Oh, I know I said some were friendly, even safe, but Tom was nice. He listened, genuinely listened to what I had to say. He didn't care about what happened before, just what was happening at that moment, you know?"

Hoss nodded.

"And Tom cared about the future and he wanted a good life for us."

The judgmental look on Hoss's face came as no real surprise.

"You think me a fool, don't you, Hoss?"

Hoss didn't flinch. "Not a fool, Ann. My gut tells me you're a woman who saw what she wanted to see and heard what she needed to hear."

The words stung. "You sound like Adam."

"There's a lot me 'n' Adam agree on."

Quickly, Ann sat again on the milk stool. "Adam talked to you? He said those things about me?"

"Not in so many words." Hoss's eyes softened "I ain't gonna speak for Adam. All I'm gonna say is findin' out what it takes to make yourself happy ain't always easy, but from what I've seen, you're up for the job."

Ann smiled. "Thank you, Hoss." She stood and brushed a bit of hay from her skirt. "For now, the only thing I want to work is bringing Adam home and seeing Silcott and his gang behind bars."

"There ain't a thing we can do to get Adam home. And until them robbers make contact again-"

"Ain't a thing we can do to catch them." Ann dropped her head. "I'm sorry my decisions brought trouble to you and your family. Again."

Hoss stood. "Trouble finds its way to the Ponderosa quite regular." He touched Ann lightly on the shoulder and steered her out into the yard. "How about some lemonade and another game of checkers?"


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter Eight

With two of her checkers already kinged, Ann watched as Hoss jumped his way into another of her traps.

"Hah!" Hoss said, grinning as he gathered two of her checkers in his fingertips.

Ann waited for his celebration to fade before jumping four of his pieces and announcing, "King me."

"Dadburnit," Hoss said. "That's three games in a row."

At his desk, Ben chuckled softly. He dropped his pencil, slid his chair back, and started across the open room. "Maybe Ann would like to play chess, Hoss."

Hoss shot Ben a disapproving scowl.

"I think I'm all gamed out." Ann melted into Ben's large, red chair.

"Well," Ben said, "it's probably for the better. Smells like Hop Sing's started dinner."

Ann stood and picked up the book she'd begun ready earlier in the day—a book she knew to be one of Adam's favorites. "If you don't mind, I think I'll go up and read a bit before dinner. She smiled knowingly at father and son. "Like currying in the barn and playing checkers, reading is a good attempt at distraction."

A knock on the door got everyone's attention.

"I didn't hear anyone ride up, did you?" Ann asked anxiously.

Ben waved his hand as he approached the door. "The hands would've stopped anyone who didn't belong. And besides"—he snickered again as Hoss ceremoniously dumped the checkers into their box—"it's hard to hear when you're laughing."

Ben reached for the door latch and hesitated. He trusted the men guarding the house, but truth be told, his gut had been telling him they should have heard from Worth Silcott by now—a missing fifty thousand dollars tend to make a man impatient.

"Who's there?" Ben asked through the closed door.

"It's Roy, Ben."

"And George Bristol."

Quickly, Ben greeted the sheriff and Virginia City's banker and ushered the men inside. Hoss stood and moved to the fireplace, offering the visitors a seat on the settee.

The good-humored atmosphere, forced as it was, disappeared with the solemn faces of the two men.

As a banker and friend, George harbored no hesitation in risking a portion of Ben's holdings to save Adam's life, but his discussion with Roy on the way to the Ponderosa burdened him with doubt. Instinct caused both men to wonder if Ann Reid was telling the whole truth.

Once inside the house, the men retreated to Ben's desk—all but Ben, who lingered awkwardly between the front door and his study. The missing, stolen money posed a threat to his eldest son and the woman who'd brought the situation to their doorstep, but a shrewd business man—and cautious father—wouldn't discuss personal financial matters in front of relative strangers.

"Ann," Ben said sincerely, knowing he stood to offend her, "if you wouldn't mind, I'd prefer to discuss matters in private." He watched her expression carefully, as it transformed from insulted to injured, and then to calm acceptance.

"Of course," she said quietly. As she approached the staircase, Ann stopped and faced the men now gathered in the study.

"If you and Mister Bristol are able to come to an arrangement, I want you to know . . . well, I'll be forever grateful. Not for me, for Adam."

Ben, Roy, Hoss, and George watched as Ann disappeared quickly up the stairs.

"Now, George," Ben said as he reached for a stack of papers on his desk, "I want to raise the cash immediately. If I were to borrow against-"

"Ben," Roy said abruptly. He turned his head to the staircase and waited until he heard the click of a bedroom door.

Ben dropped into his chair as Roy and George leaned in close to his desk. "Roy, what's this all about?"

Roy and George exchanged glances.

"I don't like the thought of Adam out there not knowin' what's happened," Roy said softly, "and it's been near impossible to sit back and wait for word from the posses. Ben, I've had more than enough time to do some thinkin'. Too much maybe. Call it instinct, but I just can't shake the feeling that somethin's not right in this whole mess.

"You remember that wire from the U.S. Marshals? Well, it got me to thinking about that dark-haired woman who visits Worth Silcott in prison." Roy looked again at George Bristol. "George and I talked on the way out here, and well, Ben, we're wonderin' if that dark-haired woman might not be dark-haired after all. We have to consider that she might be Ann Reid?"

Sheriff Coffee and George Bristol rode side by side from the Ponderosa. Neither felt satisfied with the decisions made, but until Adam could be located and proven safe, they knew they'd done the only thing that could be done. George had arrived at the ranch carrying $50,000 in his saddle bags—there was no doubt in his mind that that was the right thing to do for his long-time friend and major depositor. Roy had delivered his suspicions and those of the U.S. Marshals, but had listened to arguments from both Ben and Hoss who felt it unlikely that Ann could be hiding something, and positive she was sincere in her promise to help Adam. When all was said and done, they'd agreed, for now, to take Ann Reid at her word.

Hooves pounded and trail dust stirred in the air. The arid landscape opened before them, and Adam knew the Ponderosa laid another day's ride ahead. He'd felt the first signs of being saddle worn an hour before, but he was determined to ride until they reached the Truckee and modicum of comfort for the night. Over the years, the Whispering Rock caves had offered shade to Paiutes and travelers, alike. Adam planned on bedding down for the night near the mouth of the cave he and his brothers had named "Bear Den Cave."

"We stopping anytime soon?" Dawson asked.

"It's the middle of the desert, there's no shade, no water, and no cover," Adam said. "But if you and that flea bag you call a horse can't make it another three miles . . ."

"Oh, we can make it, this flea bag and me. I was trying to be considerate of your age and that nag you're on."

Adam laughed. "The Truckee's at the edge of the desert, and there's a spot where my brothers and I have set up camp many times. We'll stop there."

"Still another full day of riding before we reach this Ponderosa of yours?"

"That's right," Adam said, grinning as Dawson winced as he shifted in his saddle. "You still up for the job?"

Staring straight ahead, Dawson's expression grew cold. "I never back down from a promise."

Less than an hour later, Adam and Dawson arrived at the caves.

Dawson looked up. "Impressive." He tugged his hat lower on his forehead. "Dinner time, hot as hell, but impressive."

"My brothers and I used to come here in autumn. It's a shade cooler that time of year."

"Shade would be nice right about now."

Adam smiled. "Trust me, in a few minutes, the sun will be just where it needs to be for that shade of yours."

Dawson cocked his head. "Sun or mountain?"

"What?" Adam sneered.

"Well, mister college man, is it the sun that will be in the right place, or is it the mountain?"

Adam smiled. "Speaking as a college man, the mountain is unable to ne anywhere other than where it exists, while the sun, in constant motion, must move to the exact spot necessary to create your precious shade."

"Ah, I see. So, you're saying stationary objects are defenseless, unable to prevent circumstances caused by moving objects."

Adam's brow creased. "I'm not sure I'd refer to a mountain as defenseless. That implies the mountain capable of defending itself under the right conditions." Adam paused as Dawson considered his statements.

"The mountain possesses no survival instincts," Dawson said.

"Neither does the sun, for that matter. One moves, one does not, and they're both at the mercy of their purpose."

Dawson shifted in his saddle. "Just like men." His voice seemed far away. "Some can change, some can not, and all go from day to day living out their fate."

As they rode into the shade at the mouth of the caves, Adam studied his companion. Instinct had drawn him to Dawson, and he hoped to learn more about the Ponderosa's newest ranch hand.

"We'll camp here," Adam said, dismounting and grounding Sport's reins. He grabbed one of his two canteens, removed his hat, and poured a generous amount of water inside. Watching as Dawson did the same, Adam offered the drink to his horse, his hand bobbing up and down with the force of the horse's lapping. "Drink up boy, It'll be cooler soon, and we'll be home tomorrow."

As the horses sniffed the ground and bit at the sparse foliage, the two men stood in the shade against the rocks. Saddle stiffened, Dawson flexed his knees, dipping to a crouch and back up again, and Adam raised his arms and rolled his shoulders. Both men let out a puff of air as they stretched.

"If you'll excuse me, before we start setting up camp, nature calls," Dawson said, making his way toward the backside of a tall boulder.

Adam moved to Sport's side, loosening his cinches for the duration of their stop. Patting the horse's side, Adam stepped further into the shade, slipped a handkerchief from his pocket, removed his hat, and wiped down the band inside. He fanned himself with the Stetson before setting it back into position atop his head. Extending his arms, he rolled his neck, and then settled his hands at his waist. Standing in silence, Adam gazed out at the surrounding landscape and then closed his eyes, waiting patiently for Dawson to return.


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter Nine

Riding hard wasn't new to Deputy Clem Foster, and having served as Sheriff Roy Coffee's right-hand man for just over two years, leading a posse—even a two-man posse—came easy to the competent man.

Sam Crowder, on the other hand, was struggling. A long time friend of Joe Cartwright, Adam's youngest brother, Sam had always respected and admired the eldest of the Cartwright sons and had joined the search without hesitation. But Sam, recently returned from a short enrollment at an eastern college, felt every bump on the trail and every sway on the saddle as the two rode toward Whispering Rock Caves.

Conversation had abounded on the first day of their ride, but on day two, as Sam grew weary and Clem had heard more than enough of Sam's justification for leaving college, silence prevailed. Entering the desert had flustered Sam, and although he'd not said a word, Clem recognized the body language of an uneasy man.

"Something tells me you're one of those people who rarely come out this far from Virginia City," Clem said, breaking the prolonged, awkward silence.

Sam stiffened in his saddle. "I've been in the desert plenty of times."

A smile tugged at the corners of Clem's mouth.

"I'm just not used to riding so much. Being a banker's son, there isn't much call for sitting a saddle for hours and hours."

Had it been most anyone else, Clem's decision would have been different—he always enjoyed pushing soft, young men—but he'd known Sam for several years and felt fondly toward the boy. "The horses will need to take on water before we cross. We'll rest just up ahead at the caves, and then we'll ride on through the night."

Sam's tension faded, and the two rode on in silence.

As they approached the desert, the gradual terrain changes became more pronounced. Sagebrush, stripped of their sparse leaves, dotted the landscape, their brittle branches blending with the sandy soil. Groups of rocks no longer lay ahead, replaced instead by towering boulders and mountains of tan and beige stone. The largest of these peaks was home to Whispering Rock Caves, providing shelter to Indians and white men alike.

Clem sat tall and pointed in the distance. "See that two-pointed rock just ahead?" Clem studied the position of the sun. "This time of day, there'll be shade at the base. We'll stop there for a few minutes. Can't rest too long. We've got to get to-"

Clem stopped suddenly, and Sam, squinting into the sunlight, did the same. Standing in his stirrups, Clem tilted his Stetson and craned his neck. "What the? C'mon, let's ride!"

The clop of the horses' hooves against rocky soil echoed in Clem's ears. He prodded his horse with his heels as his arms pumped with each stride. Several yards behind, Sam's face flushed as he struggled to keep up, the reason for their sudden sprint still a mystery.

Leaning from side to side as they rounded outcroppings and skimmed over chuck holes, Clem's eyes remained fixed on the scene ahead. The black hat had first caught his eye, and the same-hued shirt and trousers had been a clue. Instinct told him the man standing, his hands at his waist, near the mouth of Whispering Rock Caves was Adam Cartwright. But who was the man raising a gun at Adam's back?

Clem pulled up hard on the reins and slid from the saddle, his horse tossing his head in protest. Drawing his gun, he hunched over and, creeping along the rocks, rushed toward Adam and the stranger. Sam followed, his gun drawn, fear coursing thought his veins.

With a gasp of air, Clem saw the man stepping closer to Adam. There was no time to move closer—the man's shot wouldn't wait for Clem to move nearer. He raised his gun.

"Hold it!" Clem shouted, stepping from behind a large rock.

But it was too late. The words had barely left Clem's lips when a shot pierced the desert silence.

Sam rushed up behind Clem, and the two aimed directly at the stranger.

In one fluid movement, Adam drew his gun and spun on his heels. Clem marveled at the sight. But how had the stranger missed at such close range?

Dawson dropped his gun and raised his hands, jerking his head toward a spot on the ground near Adam. His gun still at the ready, Adam glanced down. A dead rattler lay just inside the shade line. Lowering his gun, Adam sighed.

"You're fast," Dawson said, his hands still in the air, "but I reckon that snake would have been faster."

Clem moved closer, shadowed by Sam. Both men still held their guns on the man.

Confusion replaced Adam's shocked expression. "Clem, Sam, what are you doing here?"

Before they could answer, Dawson cleared his throat with gusto. "Um, before we start the reunion of old friends, mind if I lower my hands and retrieve my gun?"

Adam nodded. "It's all right, Clem. Dawson's a friend."

"Anyone hungry?" Dawson asked as Clem and Sam holstered their guns. "Rattlesnake, when cooked properly, can be mighty tasty."

Seated in the shade of Whispering Rock Caves, Clem, Sam, Adam, and Dawson relaxed around the small campfire. Dawson had indeed cooked the dead rattler, but Clem, Sam, and Adam had dined on fried potatoes from Clem's pack and beans and jerky from Adam's.

As they'd eaten, Clem had told of Ann's arrival at the ranch and what little he knew of the details about Worth Silcott and the outlaw's connection to Tom Burns. Although Adam listened to the story, he found that from the mention of Ann's name, he could barely concentrate on the rest of the tale.

After his doppelganger, Tom Burns, had been found buried in the cave near Placerville, and Valerie, Tom's wife, had been arrested, Adam and Ann had spent little more than a day together, gathering their wits and allowing the truth to settle in. Ann had fallen, hard, for Tom, seeing, as she put it, good in the man. But Adam couldn't see past the fact that the man was a liar, a cheat, and someone who stole, albeit temporarily, Adam's identity, money, and standing in the community. Worse, at the time, was Ann's newest mistake—calling Adam by Tom's name in a moment of passion. Understandable, maybe. Unforgivable, never.

As the story unveiled and the men dined and relaxed in the cooling desert night, Adam's thoughts were on Ann and how she'd once again allowed danger to follow in her footsteps. Only this time, she'd led danger to the Ponderosa, to his father and brothers—and to him.

Clem finished the story with the news that he'd send Sam south to the small town of Poeville. There, Sam could leave word at the way station, and the stage driver could carry the message on to Virginia City. Although the note would arrive on the same day as Clem, Adam, and Dawson, because of the terrain, it would beat them there by at least nine hours. Adam agreed and, knowing his father and Hoss would be worried, thanked Sam in advance.

Watching as a relieved Sam rode off—the way to Poeville meant Sam would avoid a day's ride in the desert—Adam, Clem, and Dawson settled in for the night.

As he lay atop his bedroll, Clem couldn't shake his niggling thoughts. Something about Dawson McAllister didn't seem right. Rolling to his side, Clem slipped his hands between his saddle and his head. Twenty minutes later, after replaying all he knew about Ann and the little he knew about Dawson, Clem reminded himself he had nothing tangible to back up his instincts. Moments later, he drifted to sleep.

Adam tossed and turned. His mind sorted through the events of a year ago; of discovering someone was using his name and his bank account, of being tossed in a jail cell, accused of two murders, of meeting the woman who would lie for the real murderer, of allowing himself to care for that woman. Was he anxious to see Ann again or would seeing her heat the anger he'd felt when she'd kissed him and called out another man's name?

Adam clenched his fists and rolled to his side. He knew she loved Tom Burns; knew that a woman truly in love couldn't love another. How had he let her into his heart?

Crack. It was a familiar sound, followed by the faint brush of footfall.

In the moonlit camp, Adam turned his neck, peering over his shoulder. With Clem lying on his left, Adam knew the shadowy figure headed toward a large boulder was Dawson's. "Weak bladder," Adam thought. He smiled. "I'll be sure to mention it as often as I can." Laying his head down, Adam was determined to sleep.

The next thing Adam remembered was feeling a strong hand on his shoulder. He jerked away from the touch and reached at his side for his gun.

"It's Clem," the deputy whispered. He waited for Adam to gather his wits, then added, "I couldn't sleep. Heard your friend moving and saw him head over that way."

Adam blinked, still holding his gun. "What's the problem? A man's entitled to a little privacy, don't you think?"

Clem settled down on his haunches. "Can't argue with that, but he's been gone more than fifteen minutes."

Adam raised himself on his elbows. "Can't speak from experience, but it could be the rattlesnake."

Clem was not amused. "Fifteen minutes?"

"You counted?"

Clem showed no patience for Adam's sarcasm. "I have a pocket watch. But that's not the point. Your friend-"

"His name's Dawson."

"I saw Dawson walk over to that boulder, look back at us, then continue down further than I could see."

"So?"

"Adam," Clem said softly, pointing at the sky, "take a look. It's a full moon. I'd wager we can see more 'an _ in this light. Who goes that far from camp for a little privacy?"

Clem had a point, and Adam couldn't deny it. Gun in hand, he got up and stood next to the deputy, both staring out into the desert in the direction Dawson had taken.

"Look, Adam," Clem whispered, "if we're to believe Ann Reid's story-"

"If?" Adam said, bristling.

"That's right, if we believe her story, someone's after you. I don't know this Dawson, and you've only known him for a few days. I'm not saying he's the one, but that he's been gone long enough that-"

"That someone might have gotten to him."

Clem nodded and he and Adam set off after Dawson McAllister.


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter Ten

In the silhouette of an outcropping of tall rock, three men stood, engaged in hushed conversation.

Adam and Clem, tucked tightly against another rock, guns drawn, shared uneasy glances. The murmur of the discussion filled the still, night air. Adam and Clem moved closer, each step chosen with care. The voices became focused, the words clear.

"Fifty thousand," the voice Adam recognized as Dawson's said. "That's what Reid told Ben Cartwright."

"We're closer now than we've ever been," another man said. "Won't be long now. We'll have him right where we want him."

The third man nodded. "And the woman?"

Dawson spoke again. "Time will tell. And speaking of time, I'd best get back before Cartwright and that deputy notice I'm gone."

From the safety of their cover, Adam turned to Clem. He jerked his head to the side, and the two men hurried back to their camp.

"He can't be far behind us," Adam said softly, anger in his tone. When their site came into view, he pointed and hurried to his bedroll. "Lay down. Keep your gun."

"Ambush?" Clem asked.

"Nothing less."

Moments later, Dawson appeared in the distance. He sauntered innocently toward his bed, pulled his gun from his trouser waistband, placed it beneath his saddle, and settled himself for sleep.

Across the camp, Adam signaled Clem, and the two rolled and leaped to their feet, their guns drawn and leveled at the unsuspecting Dawson.

"Don't try it," Adam ordered as Dawson reached for his gun.

"What's this about?" Dawson asked. He started to stand.

Clem reached out, grasping Dawson's shoulder. "Stay down and stay quiet."

"Adam, what-"

Adam drew back, swung, and punched Dawson in the jaw, sending the man flat on his back.

Wincing, Dawson rolled to his side and spat blood onto the ground. He flipped to his back and glared up at Adam and Clem.

"You're going to tell us who those men are," Adam said, "and you're going to do it quietly."

Dawson huffed. He painstakingly rubbed his jaw.

"Stop stalling," Adam ordered. "Who are you and who are those men?"

"May I sit?" Dawson asked.

"All right. Sit."

Dawson pushed himself up, leaning his back against his saddle. "My name is Dawson McAllister. U.S. Marshal Dawson McAllister. And the men you obviously saw me speaking with are marshals as well."

"Go on," Adam said.

"We're trying to locate $50,000 that was stolen two years ago by Tom Burns and his brother-in-law, a man named Worth Silcott."

Moonlight revealed the anger on Adam's face. "You lied to me, and now I'm supposed to take your word? Believe you're a U.S. Marshal?"

"For all we know," Clem added, "you're the man who ransacked Ann Reid's room and left her that threatening note."

Dawson studied Clem's expression. "Saddlebag. The pouch inside the front flap. I have papers." He trained his stare on Adam. "In my vest, right pocket, there's a badge. My name's inscribed on the underside."

Clem nodded at Adam and started for Dawson's horse.

"My fellow marshals are out there, if you need further proof. They've been with me all along, With us, actually. You see, we-"

"No more talk," Adam said. "Not until I'm sure you're telling the truth."

Clem returned to Adam's side carrying an unfolded paper and a silver badge. He handed the paper to Adam and searching his own saddlebag for matches. Between the moonlight and the flickering flame, they were able to read the engraving on the underside of the badge.

"Dawson McAllister," Clem said aloud. He turned the badge in his fingertips, revealing the familiar styling of the U.S. Marshals.

Adam nodded at Dawson, and Clem raised his gun. This time, it was Adam who struck a match. He flattened the unfolded letter and read aloud.

"U.S. Marshal Service, Marshal Dawson McAllister, detached from the San Francisco branch in pursuit of Worth Silcott and members of the Burns-Silcott gang."

Clem still wasn't convinced. "There should be a date at the top," he said, "and a signature on the bottom, right side."

Adam glanced at Clem.

"I happen to know a new head marshal was sworn in recently."

Adam skimmed the paper. "The date is September 12th and the signature reads, Lucas Brock, Head Marshal."

Clem nodded. "Brock took over on September 9th."

"And he's doing a fine job, so far," Dawson said, noting the doubt lingering on Adam's face. "Licorice whips."

"What?" Adam asked.

Clem smiled and lowered his gun. "Lucas Brock has a passion for licorice whips. I should know. A few years back, I rode four posses with Lucas."

Adam's posture showed no change. He'd trusted a man, considered him a friend, and that trust had been earned under a cloud of lies.

"May I put my hands down?" Dawson asked. "And may I explain further?"

Adam nodded, and minutes later, he and Clem sat facing Dawson as he explained his part in the marshals' plan.

"My father died in a mining accident when I was three-years-old. My mother married again, and when I was seven, she had a child named Tom." Dawson paused, staring at the ground in front of him, and then he looked over at Adam. "Tom Burns was my half brother."

Adam's eyes widened.

"Ann Reid is right. You are the spitting image of my dead brother, right down to those famous Cartwright dimples."

Adam wasn't sure if he should offer condolences or reach for his gun. "The friend? The dead friend?

"Even as a child, Tom was no good. He was a bully and a thief. When he was fourteen, he met Worth Silcott, and the two of them got into more trouble than all the boys in town put together. It got so bad, my father told him to leave and never come back. Broke my mother's heart. She'd done everything she could to straighten Tom out. I was happy to see him go." Dawson gathered a handful of small stones in his hand, rolling them around and around in his closed palm.

"Tom was gone for about two months. Vanished. We had no idea where he was, and that suited me just fine. But one night, after my parents and I were asleep, Tom and Worth broke into our house. As quietly as they could, they tore the place apart. You see, my father had a hiding place for his cash, and he'd moved it when he threw Tom out.

"They didn't find the money, but they did kill my father."

"Killed him?" Clem asked.

Dawson nodded, staring at the stones in his hand. He threw them against a nearby rock. "My father woke up and went downstairs. He walked in on Tom and Worth ransacking the kitchen. Tom pulled a gun on him and they fought. The noise woke my mother and me and by the time we got down to the kitchen, Tom and Worth were gone and my father was on the floor, clutching his chest.

"He died that night. Doc said it was a heart attack."

"And Tom and Worth got away," Adam said softly.

Dawson nodded. "I promised my mother I'd find Tom and see to it he was tried and convicted. But . . . my mother . . . she told me to let it go, that Tom would be punished by God."

Adam was sure he knew what came next. After all, he'd pursued Tom Burns himself, but for far less important reasons.

"I became a marshal for one reason—so fewer people would have to wait for God to punish outlaws and killers. Tom is dead. Worth is not. And the money they stole from the banks, from hard working, law abiding people, has to be returned."

Adam stood and paced a yard or so and back again. "So, you've been looking for a way to avenge your father's death and find the stolen money by using Ann's connection to your brother?"

"Yes."

Adam paced again. "And you stood back and allowed Worth to follow Ann, search her things, threaten her, and possibly follow her to the Ponderosa?"

Dawson didn't flinch. "Yes."

Adam stiffened. "And you put my father and brothers in danger by allowing Ann to stay at the ranch."

Dawson got to his feet. "There was a marshal on the stage with Ann, and there are two more marshals standing guard on your family at the ranch. I was assigned to follow you, and I've been trailing you for the past three weeks."

"Three weeks?" Adam asked.

"That's right. I only introduced my self in Monoville because we got word that Ann had traveled to the Ponderosa, and that your father is planning on paying the $50,000 to protect you."

"And you couldn't have gone to my father with the truth? Told me the truth?"

Dawson considered his words carefully. "I am following orders, as are the other marshals."

"Damn your orders!" Adam kicked at the dirt, his fists balled. "We leave before first light, orders or no orders!"


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter Eleven

Dawn's first birdsong settled the matter. Ben hadn't slept all night, and for the past hour, he'd fought the urge to rise, hoping for at least a short respite from his worries. The chirping drew him from hours of tossing and turning, and he dressed, pulled on his boots, and ran his comb through tousled hair.

He'd only just left his bedroom when he heard anxious rapping at the front door. Making his way down the stairs, he crossed the large room and took his pistol in hand.

"Who's there?" Ben asked through the latched door.

"Pete Houser, Mister Cartwright. A man give me a whole nickel to bring ya this here letter."

Before unlatching the door, Ben turned at the sound of footfall on the staircase. Hoss had heard the commotion and joined his father as he released the lock.

The red-haired boy smiled up at Ben and Hoss. Wearing thread-bare trousers and a snuggly-fitted shirt, he handed the letter to Ben, dipped his head, and started across the front yard.

"Just a minute, Pete," Ben said. "The man who gave you this letter, what did he look like? Exactly what did he say?"

Pete stepped back onto the porch. "Well, it was kinda dark. Most of the lamps on C Street was already blown out. I was . . . I mean . . . My ma was workin', and I was out . . . I couldn't sleep, so I was walkin' and a man was standin' in the shadows next to the broth"—Pete's cheeks flushed—"and well, he was in the shadows and I didn't see much of his face at all, 'cept I could tell he had a mighty hairy face. He yanked on my shirt and turned me around and pulled me close to him. I was lookin' out into the street when he talked."

Pete paused, remembering the man's words. "He held this here nickel up where's I could see it, and he said I should take that there letter to Ben Cartwright. Said I should do it right away." He watched as Ben opened the letter and began to read. "Did I do a bad thing, Mister Cartwright?"

Hoss stepped forward. "Nah," he said, patting the boy on the shoulder, "you didn't do nothin' wrong, Pete."

Ben looked up from the letter. "Pete, why don't you go into the kitchen and tell Hop Sing to fix you something to eat? You've got a long ride back to town and you'll no doubt miss breakfast."

The boy grinned and dashed inside. He'd eaten in the Cartwright kitchen on many occasions—and the Cartwrights often wondered if those were the only real meals the boy ever had.

"Pa," Hoss said as Pete ran past him, "is that letter about Adam?"

"No," Ben said. "Well, yes. I mean . . . Just read it yourself."

Hoss took the letter and read it aloud.

"Ben Cartwright. Take the $50,000 to the hanging tree on the old Morehouse place. Bury it under the tree and put three rocks on top. No law. Then go home and wait. Once I have the money, your son will be set free. If the money isn't there by noon today, your son will be delivered to you ready to be buried under that same tree."

"What are we gonna do, Pa?"

Ben bit on his upper lip, his dark eyes darting from side to side as if searching for an answer.

"You want me to get Roy?"

Ben thrust his hands into his pockets and stared out into the yard.

"Pa? We gotta decide. The Morehouse place is clean across our-"

"I know where it is!" Ben straightened his back and turned to his son. "They have Adam. There's no choice. I'll take the money. Keep Roy out of this."

"Pa," Hoss said, "are ya sure?"

"I'm sure." Ben squeezed Hoss's shoulder. "Saddle my horse, and pack a shovel." He walked into the house, leaving a worried Hoss standing on the porch.

Fifteen minutes later, Ben sat on Buck, the money stuffed into his saddlebags. Hoss watched as his father rode off, their parting words still fresh in his mind.

 _"_ _No law. Promise me, son."_

 _"_ _Yes, sir."_

 _"_ _And don't tell Ann about the letter. Tell her I had to tend to some sick stock on the range. Keep her in the house, and Hoss, watch her."_

 _"_ _You still don't trust her, do ya, Pa?"_

 _"_ _I guess I don't. I'm not sure why, but my instincts are telling me something about this whole thing isn't right. I'll be back as soon as I can."_

Waiting wears heavily on a man when his loved ones are in danger. Hoss tried busying himself with daily morning chores, only to find he'd completed the tasks of four men in record time. He wondered into the kitchen and, despite Hop Sing's protest, washed up in the sink.

"First Hop Sing feed little boy, Little boy say 'thank you' and run out door. Now, you take Hop Sing's sink. You wash up, you get out. Then breakfast ready in ten minute. You wash up, you stay, get in Hop Sing's way, breakfast ready at noon!"

Hoss dried his hands, scraped a chair across the floor, and sat heavily against the seat. He propped his elbows on the table and rubbed his temples with his fingertips.

Hop Sing raised his brows and, spatula in hand, joined Hoss at the kitchen table. "What wrong?" he asked.

Hoss blew the air from his lungs and lay back against his chair. He reached into his vest pocket, pulled out the letter, and tossed it onto the table.

"Pete brought that letter."

Hop Sing lifted the paper, then set it back down. "Hop Sing no read English. What letter say?"

Hoss's hands slid from the table top and flopped onto his lap. "I'm sorry, Hop Sing. I know you can't read English. It's from that Worth Silcott, the man who's after Ann and Adam."

"What bad man say?"

Hoss's face became angry. "He says he's got Adam, and Pa's gone off to deliver the money."

Hop Sing nodded. "Mister Ben give money, bad man give Adam back."

"I hope you're right. Pa told me not to tell Roy and not to follow him." Hoss pounded his palms against the table and sprang to his feet. "The letter says Pa's to go alone, no law. But Hop Sing, I've got a bad feeling," he said, pacing the kitchen floor. "And Pa does, too."

"Something not right?" Hop Sing asked.

"Exactly!" Hoss grasped the back of the chair with his hands. "But it's a feeling, not something we can back up with facts."

"In China, feeling deserve respect. Most time, Cartwright feeling better than fact. Maybe this time no different."

Hoss took measure of Hop Sing's wisdom while the Chinaman waited patiently. Finally, Hoss nodded, slapped the chair back with both hands, and snatched the letter from the table. "Thank ya, Hop Sing. I'm gonna go after Pa." He started for the dining room, stopped short, turned, and addressed his friend. "Don't mention this letter or what Pa's doin' to Miss Reid. Just tell her Pa 'n' me's out tendin' some sick stock. And it's real important that you keep her in the house. She ain't to step foot outside."

Hop Sing nodded. "She no leave house. Hop Sing make sure."

The first two days Ann Reid had spent on the Ponderosa had been exhausting. Circumstances had caused her to pace in nearly every room of the house, but it was her emotional state that had depleted her energy, given her a constant headache, and prompted her to spend more time alone in the spare bedroom.

On this, her third morning in the ranch house, Ann awoke later than usual, having managed just four hours of sleep. She'd stayed in her room for an hour, gazing out the window at the vegetable garden in the back of the house, fussing with her dress and hair, reading and rereading the same three paragraphs of a book she'd borrowed from Adam's room, and wringing her hands with worry.

When nothing she did calmed her thoughts, she dropped onto her bed with a sigh. She lay there, staring at the framed, hanging pictures, studying the pieces of art displayed on the dresser and table, and when the walls began to close in around her, she jumped to her feet and made her way downstairs.

The house was quiet. Ben's desk was pristine, the table had been cleared of breakfast dishes, and neither Ben nor Hoss was anywhere to be seen. A wave of panic washed over Ann, She'd never been left alone in the house, and as her mind thrust frightening possibilities into her thoughts, she rushed across the large room.

"Hop Sing?" she called as she entered the kitchen. "Is anyone here?"

The door to pantry opened. "Hop Sing here, Missy Ann."

Ann sighed. "I thought . . . Never mind what I thought. I'm sorry I didn't come down in time for breakfast. Might I be able to have a cup of coffee?"

Hop Sing stepped to the stove. "Hop Sing bring coffee to table. Missy hungry? Hop Sing make food."

Ann smiled. "Thank you, but I'm not hungry this morning."

"Missy need eat. Hop Sing make egg and toast. Go, sit. Coffee almost ready."

She'd only known the Chinaman for a few days, but Ann knew better than to argue with him. She went to the dining room and took a seat.

Except for the muffled sounds from the kitchen, the house was quiet—eerily quiet.

Hop Sing startled Ann when he appeared, and he quickly poured steaming coffee into her cup. He bowed and returned to the kitchen, and Ann was alone once again.

She glanced around the great room, picturing Adam in his home, stoking the fire, seated in one of the fine, upholstered chairs, discussing lumber contracts and cattle negotiations with his father and brothers. She closed her eyes, concentrating on his voice—a voice she could barely recall. Her eyes opened, and they traveled to the pine staircase. She imagined Adam walking down those stairs, stopping at the landing, and seeing her across the room. In her daydream, Adam called to her. "Ann, my darling."

She jerked, her breathing rapid. _Why?_ Tears welled in her eyes. _Why did it have to be Tom's voice?_


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter Twelve

In the gray haze of predawn, Adam, Dawson, and Clem mounted and left camp in a cloud of dust. Riding hard was not new to Adam. Dawson McAllister's revelations had swirled in his mind all night long, and he was determined to reach the Ponderosa as quickly as possible.

He had no concerns for his safety—after all, he rode in the company of a Deputy Sheriff and a U.S. Marshal, not to mention the other two marshals trailing them at a distance.

Knowing he'd been oblivious to Silcott's threats these past few days angered Adam. For him, the unknown meant only one thing: going straight to the most obvious source and finding the answers. That source was Ann Reid, and he planned on getting the answers he'd failed to obtain when they'd met a year ago.

Clem and Dawson had no trouble keeping up with Adam. It was more than their duty to protect him. They liked Adam, respected him, and they both felt the urgency to see for themselves that his father and brother were safe and sound.

At the Ponderosa, Hop Sing dried the last of the breakfast pans and gathered the rags he had used that morning. He stepped to the window, hanging the cloths on the makeshift line strung from wall to wall. Since the day Ann arrived, Ben had insisted they all stay inside as much as possible, and although Hop Sing had protested, Hoss had moved the line inside the house.

As he reached for the last rag, movement near the barn outside drew his attention. He rushed to the sink, reached into the space beneath the large, rectangular bowl, and pulled out his shotgun. He hurried to the window, relieved to see a familiar horse and rider. Moments later, there was a knock on the front door.

Hop Sing entered the dining room just in time to see Ann's face paling. "Not to worry. Man at door is Sheriff Coffee."

Hop Sing unlatched the door, and Roy Coffee stepped inside.

"Good morning, Hop Sing," Roy said, noticing Ann seated at the table. "I'd like to speak with Ben if I could."

Hop Sing wiped his hands against his apron. "Mister Ben not here."

"Oh," Roy said, obviously surprised.

"Mister Hoss and Mister Ben go to sick cattle before sun come up."

At the dining table, Ann smiled.

Roy watched Hop Sing's eyes carefully. On any other day, the Chinaman would have been taken at his word, but Roy knew Ben Cartwright very well, and even though two ranch hands stood guard near the house, he doubted Ben would choose today to tend his cattle in person. And taking Hoss along? The sheriff knew there was more to the story.

Anxious, Hop Sing added more. "Mister Ben say they not be back for hours."

"All right then," Roy said before crossing to the dining room. "Miss Reid, do you mind if I ask you a few more questions?"

Ann bristled and then donned her best smile. "Of course, Sheriff Coffee. Anything I can do to help."

Roy took a seat, and Hop Sing lingered next to Ann.

"I could sure use a cup of your good coffee, Hop Sing," Roy said.

Nodding, Hop Sing hurried to the kitchen.

"Now, Miss Reid, if you don't mind. You've said Tom Burns never mentioned having robbed several banks."

"That's right."

"But you did know Burns killed a man in Placerville."

Ann sipped her coffee. "A gunslinger, and in self defense."

"The authorities still believe he embezzled money from the Lubbock Bank."

"He was framed by his partner, Jason Everts, and Tom served a five year sentence."

"He murdered his cell mate."

Ann slammed her cup against the saucer. "That man was going to kill Tom! He had no choice!"

"There's no proof of that, Miss Reid. Tom Burns rode with Worth Silcott and his gang for years. He's most likely an embezzler. He murdered two men in two weeks.

Ann was on her feet. "He was used by his partner and his wife!"

Roy stood, as well. "The sister of Worth Silcott and a man who lied his way into a bank position."

"Tom didn't want to do any of those things!"

"Miss Reid, believing in something hard enough, it doesn't make it true. I just don't understand how you can defend a man like Tom Burns."

Ann walked into the living room and paced the floor. "I'm not defending him, Sheriff Coffee. I know he and Silcott robbed banks, but that was long before I met him. I know he killed those two men, but it was in self defense. I know . . . He . . . I . . ."

"Coffee ready," Hop Sing announced, unsure of what he'd walked in on.

"Miss Reid," Roy said, "why don't you take some time to compose yourself."

"Yes," Ann said. "I'll be in my room." She hurried up the stairs and gently closed the bedroom door.

Downstairs, Roy motioned for Hop Sing to follow. The two stepped into the kitchen, and Roy fairly glared at the Chinaman.

"Hop Sing, I've known Ben Cartwright for a very long time, and I think I know you pretty well. Adam's out there somewhere and the Silcott gang's after him. Miss Reid, well, I don't think we've heard the entire story from her." He stepped closer to Hop Sing. "There's something you're not telling me. I want to know what it is, and I want to know right this minute."

The Morehouse homestead lay at the edge of the Ponderosa property line. The fastest way to the place was also the most vulnerable. Knowing his father as he did, Hoss avoided that trail and instead, he rode hard across the meadow and into the thickness of the pine covered mountain. He had no doubt his father had come this way as well, but Ben had a marked head start, and Hoss knew he had to catch up.

Ahead, Ben rode at a steady pace. The last thing he wanted was to attract the attention of anyone who might be around. Riding around with a shovel protruding from his horse's back and fifty thousand dollars in his saddlebag was not something he wanted to explain.

He canvassed the landscape with vigilance. An ambush could provide Silcott and his gang with fifty thousand dollars and a second hostage.

It had been three weeks since the Ponderosa had seen rain, and the ground beneath the towering trees was dry and covered with needles and pine cones. A lesser skilled rider and inexperienced horse would have chosen a safer path, but Ben and Buck moved with ease along the mountainside.

As he rode, Ben considered the situation and all of the unknowns. How many men were riding with Silcott? How had they captured Adam? Was Adam hurt, or worse? Did they even have Adam as their prisoner, or had one of Roy's two-man posses found Adam safe and sound?

A dense expanse of sage sprung up in a clearing ahead, and Ben steered Buck to the left and around the brush.

Ben's thoughts continued. Would Silcott take the money and disappear? Would Adam be returned, as promised? Was this whole thing some sort of trap? Has Ann known all along where the stolen money is hidden?

As he approached the ramshackle remains of a small, long ago mine, Ben's heart began to race. The Morehouse place lay just ahead. He pulled gently on the reins, slowing Buck to a walk. This was the time for caution, and Ben scanned the area for signs of life.

The trail leading to the Morehouse home, overgrown since Jess and Peggy were murdered I their front yard, seemed untouched. No broken sage branches, no wheel or horse tracks, and no brush padded down from footfall.

Ben rode along the trail he'd ridden many times—he'd known the couple for years before they were murdered. A few feet ahead stood the hanging tree, the tree where Jess died, despite Hoss's attempts to save him.

Still guarded, Ben glanced left and right, up and down, behind and in the distance ahead. No sign that anyone was around. He dismounted slowly, resting his hands against Buck's side as he searched the surrounding area.

Sliding the shovel free, Ben walked to the large tree in the Morehouse yard. For the first time, he stood beneath the thick, jutting branch on which Jess had been hung. He could only imagine the terror Jess and Peggy had felt, but it was the horror Hoss had experienced as he tried desperately to save Jess that filled Ben with rage. And now, he stood beneath that same tree, thrusting a shovel into the rocky soil, desperate to save the life of his eldest son.

Hoss recognized the remains of the mine just north of the Morehouse property. He tethered Chubb to a tree branch, drew his gun, and continued on foot. The fallen branches and low growing brush were brittle, but the large, muscular man barely made a sound as he crept closer to the hanging tree where his father now stood.

Crouched behind a wide tree trunk, Hoss watched as his father drove a shovel into the dirt. His eyes ever moving, Hoss scanned the landscape for signs of trouble. He knew all too well that more often than not, kidnappers kept a close eye on the drop point, and Hoss wondered if Silcott and his men were nearby.

As the morning sun broke through wispy cloud cover, Adam raced ahead of his companions. Clem and Dawson exchanged knowing glances—Silcott and his men could be anywhere on the trails, and Adam's resolve to blaze the trail to the ranch was becoming reckless in the face of danger.

"Adam," Clem shouted, riding alongside Sport's right flank, "we should rest the horses."

"No. The Ponderosa's just ahead."

"If the horses drop, none of us will make it to the Ponderosa."

"I will."

Dawson rode up on Sport's left. "The deputy's right, Adam. Your horse is starting to show lather just like mine."

"Sport knows where we're going and he'll make it just fine."

"Use your instincts, Adam. Silcott isn't just after Ann Reid. He's after you. The marshals and I haven't seen a trace of them from Monoville to here, but you can bet since she's on your ranch, they're on your ranch. We don't know where or how many, and riding cocksure through the trees and brush is a surefire way to get yourself kidnapped, not to mention getting you, the deputy, and me killed.

"If Silcott and his men outnumber our guns, and you ride headfirst across your Ponderosa, you're liable to end up dead on your very own land, and what'll that do to your father and brothers?"


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter Thirteen

Even after Dawson's warning, it seemed that Adam was intent on ignoring their warnings. But at the fence line of the north section of the Ponderosa, Adam suddenly pulled up on the reins, leaving Sport struggling to stop.

Dawson did the same, and his horse snorted in protest. Clem, who'd been lagging a bit, managed to trot his horse to the same spot.

Dawson calmed his mount with a pat to the neck. He turned to Adam and said, "It's about time you take our ad-"

"Sh!" Adam said, sliding from his saddle and pointing through the aspens in the direction of the old Morehouse ranch.

Clem and Dawson dismounted and joined Adam, crouched behind a group of young trees.

"See those four horse," Adam asked, pointing toward the rundown barn behind the Morehouse home, "hidden in the brush?"

Both men nodded.

"And in the front of the house, there. That's my father's horse, and there, that's my father."

"Your father?" Dawson asked.

Clem squinted into the sun. "What's he doing?"

"Digging," Adam said. "My father's digging a hole under the hanging tree. And I don't think he brought along four extra horses."

Dawson crouched lower and leaned to the left, peering around the smallest of the tree trunks. "You said hanging tree. Is that something most in these parts know about?"

"Yeah," Adam said. "A landmark."

Clem tugged on the brim of his hat. "The kind of landmark you use to hide something."

"Ransom," Dawson whispered. "Like fifty thousand in stolen money."

Adam scooted closer to Dawson. "Or fifty thousand my father put together to satisfy Silcott and his gang."

"Either way, those four horses mean trouble. Clem, you and-"

"Adam!"

Three men spun on their heels, their weapons drawn.

"Dadburnit, Adam," Hoss said, hunkering next to his brother, "we thought you was bein' held by Silcott."

"Well, I'm not."

Dawson couldn't take her eyes off of the big man next to Adam.

"In case you haven't figured it out, this is my brother, Hoss."

Dawson nodded. "U.S. Marshal Dawson McAllister. For a big man, you're mighty soft footed."

Adam scrutinized the scene in front of them. "He's soft in a lot of places."

Hoss maneuvered himself into a better view. "You keep that up and I'll show you a hard fist."

"Look," Clem whispered. "Ben stopped digging."

Through the clouded kitchen window in the former home of Jess and Peggy Morehouse, four of Worth Silcott's men kept watch. Their orders were simply that—to watch Ben Cartwright bury the money. Nothing more.

Besides money, self preservation had always been Silcott's main concern. Ever since he'd escaped from prison, he'd been safe, hiding in unlikely towns, staying just long enough to be quickly forgotten. And now, far from the unfolding scene, but he had no qualms about sacrificing his own men should Ben have ignored his instructions to come alone.

"Hey," the bearded man said, "I think he's ready to bury the money."

"He'd better be," another of the four men said. "I got a bad feelin' about this whole set up."

Ben stared at the hole. Satisfied the box containing the money would fit, he braced the shovel against the tree, returned to his horse, and pulled open the leather strap of his saddlebag. Glancing from side to side, he sought out any signs of human life. After a moment, he reached into the bag and removed a wooden box.

"We gonna just sit here and wait?" Hoss asked.

"No" came the unison reply from Adam, Clem, and Dawson.

"Now that's what I like. Everyone in agreement."

"Before we do this, "Adam said, "does Pa know you're here?"

"Nope."

Clem knew the answer, but he couldn't stop himself from asking, "Is Roy comin'?"

"Nope."

Adam checked the chambers of his pistol. "Dawson, those marshal friends of yours, are they around?"

"Yes, sir."

"Our lead?" Adam asked.

Dawson nodded. "Our lead."

"All right then, Hoss, you and Clem take the back of the house. I'll count to twenty, then Dawson and I will head for the front."

"What about them other marshals I ain't yet met?" Hoss asked.

Dawson smiled. "They're already on either side of the front of the house."

Hoss, Clem, and Adam peered over the top of their cover.

"I can't see nary a one," Hoss said.

Adam clasped Hoss's shoulder. "You can take his word for it. Now, go!"

Ben set the box into the freshly dug hole and quickly covered it with the loose dirt. He looked around and after a minute had gathered three rather large rocks which he piled atop the buried money. With the final rock in place, an uneasy feeling washed over him. He stood and looked around once again. And that's when he saw them—Hoss and Clem, their pistols shining in the sunlight, creeping quickly toward the house.

"Someone's inside," Ben thought, "and they're likely watching my every move _._

He lowered his gaze and walked calmly to his horse. Hidden by Buck's girth, Ben drew his gun. He mounted, the gun held tightly alongside his thigh, and started down the path, away from the house. He only hoped he done nothing to give their plan away.

He continued until he was out of sight. He dismounted and doubled back toward the house.

Hoss opened the back door of the Morehouse home. He and Clem dashed inside, catching one of Silcott's men coming into the kitchen. "Hold it, right there," Hoss whispered, aiming directly at the man's head.

Clem stepped beside the startled man. "Drop it," he commanded softly, then he kicked the man's gun toward Hoss.

Hoss grabbed the gun, shoved it into his belt, and then knocked the man out cold with a single punch.

At the same time, Adam and Dawson popped from the brush and stormed the front of the house. The two marshals on either side joined them, rushing inside, their weapons at the ready.

The first gunshot came from the bearded gang member. He'd been tucked, unseen, behind a tall, Biedermeier chair, and his bullet grazed Adam's shoulder. Dawson aimed, fired, and the man collapsed on the floor.

The two remaining outlaws surrendered, dropping their guns and raising their hands. The marshals wasted no time, and the two were quickly bound and thrust onto the dust-covered sofa.

Clem came into the room, followed by Hoss—dragging the unconscious outlaw by the feet.

Hoss saw Adam clutching his arm at his chest. He looked from one marshal to the other. "If one of you wouldn't mind, I'd like to take at look at my brother's wound."

The taller marshal bent down and bound the unconscious man's wrists and ankles, and together he and his fellow officer lifted the man into a chair.

"Which one of you is Silcott?" Clem asked.

"None of them," Dawson replied. "But I do recognize all of their faces from wanted posters. They're Silcott's gang, that's for sure."

Across the room, Hoss reached for Adam's arm. "Will you stop fussing?" Adam pushed him away. "I'm all right. What I want to know is, if you're here, and Pa was here, who's keeping an eye on Ann?"

"I'd like to know the answer to that, myself," Ben said, standing in the doorway.

Hoss nearly cowered at the tone of his father's voice. He looked at Adam with a youthful expression Adam recalled all too well.

"Don't look at me," Adam said, turning then to face his father. "The boy just never listens."

Ben smiled. He couldn't help himself. "Adam," he said, reaching out, "its' good to see you, son."

"From what little I've learned, I'd have to say it's good to be seen!"

Ben and Hoss chuckled, but Adam turned his attention on Dawson.

"I'll assume my brother left Ann in good hands. But Silcott is still out there, and come to think of it, you've never mentioned just how many men he has."

"Four," Dawson said. "We know of four—these four—and Silcott himself."

"Marshal," Clem said, "if you can spare one of your men, we'll take these four to the Virginia City jail."

"Just to be safe," Dawson said, "I'll spare them both." He instructed the marshals to go with Clem, and minutes later, with the outlaws secured on their mounts, they rode off toward Virginia City.

As they'd readied the horses, Ben worked to retrieve the wooden box of cash. Hoss approached his father, stopping halfway across the yard. Ben saw his son, and quickly pulled the box from the ground and joined Hoss where he stood.

"Pa, you think, when this is all over, it's be all right if I was to cut down that tree?"

"You know how I feel about cutting trees, Hoss-"

"Yes, sir, but-"

"But I think, this one time, it would be a fine thing to do." Ben placed a comforting hand on Hoss back, and the two returned to the house.

"Ready?" Adam asked, his arm now bandaged with a handkerchief. "I want to get back to the house as soon as we can."

"She's all right," Hoss said. "I left Hop Sing in charge, and you've seen him come after me with a cleaver just for eatin' a donut or two."

"Or ten," Adam said, brushing past his brother.

"Or twenty," Ben said, doing the same.

"They always like that?" Dawson asked Clem.

"Always."


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter Fourteen

The chirping roused her from an unexpected sleep. Ann rolled to her back, stretched her arms and then rubbed the sides of her neck. The last thing she remembered was leaving Hop Sing and Sheriff Coffee in the living room and settling in on her bed, hoping to read more of the book she'd borrowed from Ben.

She tucked one hand beneath her head; the other, she settled at her side. Staring at the thick textured patterns of the stucco ceiling, Ann's thoughts robbed her of more sleep.

 _How did I end up here, in Adam's world, in Adam's home? It wasn't that long ago I was a young woman, a girl, really, making choices. Bad choices. One after another with a day of happiness here and there. And this is where those choices got me, under the protection of good men. Men whose values are different from the ones I've chosen to live by. Values I wish I'd never abandoned._

Ann rolled to her side, turning her back on the dreams painted on the valleys and peaks of the bedroom's stucco ceiling.

 _All those foolish, female hopes and dreams clouded my thinking. I should have taken my time. Instead, I grew up quick, and I grew up hard. I saw what I wanted to see in every man I met._ Ann closed her eyes. _And there were a lot of them._

 _But none drew me in like Tom Burns. Oh, he was a handsome, strong man, but what pulled me in was that he needed me, needed to talk through his troubles, needed someone who'd listen, and care. And I was eager to comply._

She raised her head, fluffed the down pillow, and dropped back down. She sighed, anger mixing with disappointment.

 _And then Adam came along. If only he'd had a different face . . . Oh, who am I kidding? It wouldn't have worked, Adam and me. He's a different sort of man, and so are Ben and Hoss. When something isn't the way it should be, they do everything they can to fix it, change it. Me? I simply walk away, move on._

 _But I wonder . . . if Tom had lived . . . if I hadn't used Tom's name when Adam kissed me . . ._

Ann left her bed and paced the floor.

 _Oh, Ann! You're not the woman you ever wanted to be! You know you didn't love Tom. Not really. Not the way you love . . . Stop it! You have to keep your wits about you. You can't do or say anything that might jeopardize the choices you've set in motion._

She walked to the window and pressed her palms against the pane.

 _You know what you want, and when this is over, you'll have it. You'll have it all._

"Missy Reid," Hop Sing said, rapping lightly on her bedroom door. "Mister Ben say Hop Sing take care of you. You no come down long time. Hop Sing wait. Think now, you come eat lunch." When no one answered, he knocked again. "Maybe you want to eat in bedroom?"

The door opened, and Ann forced her best smile. "I'm sorry. I fell asleep. I'll be right down. I just want to freshen up a bit."

Hop Sing bowed slightly, walked down the hallway, and descended the stairs.

Ann followed a few minutes later. The dining table was set for one, and a small vase containing two red roses adorned the center. She lingered in the living room, unsure if she should sit or go into the kitchen to offer help. She decided on the latter and had reached the dining table when Hop Sing appeared from the kitchen with a tray bearing steaming soup, thick slices of bread, a small dish of churned butter, and a bowl of gooseberries and elderberries with a dollop of cream on the top.

"Missy Ann sit. Need keep up strength."

"Thank you, Hop Sing. I appreciate all the trouble you've gone to."

"No trouble. Hop Sing happy when pretty lady eat food."

Ann sat, waiting politely as Hop Sing poured coffee into her cup. He returned to his kitchen after promising a freshly baked pie for dinner's desert.

The soup was delicious, and the berries had been sprinkled with just enough sugar. Ann sipped her coffee—a bit too strong for her liking, but she found the warmth it provided soothed her. She poured a second cup, added milk from the delicate pitcher, and absentmindedly stirred the tan liquid. Lost in thought, she didn't hear the subtle padding of Hop Sing's feet.

"Missy Ann finish?"

Ann smiled. "Oh, yes. It was delicious, especially the soup." Her smile slowly faded. "No wonder the Cartwrights are all such big, strong men."

Hop Sing bowed and gathered the bowls onto the tray.

"When did you say Ben and Hoss are expected?"

"Hop Sing not sure. Cattle very important. Sick cattle more important."

"Yes," Ann said, "I imagine so. Still, shouldn't they come home for lunch?

"Not to worry. When Mister Ben leave, he take all he need to get job done."

He'd been riding hard for more than an hour, plenty of time to consider what he'd say to Ben and Hoss. Truth be told, Adam was like a son to Roy, having watched him grow from a young boy to a fine man.

Roy had to admit, had he been in Ben's place, he'd most likely have done the same thing. But the law is the law, and kidnapping, ransom, and missing stolen money was not for the layman to handle. Roy had known something was not right when he'd visited the Ponderosa that morning, and his keen sense of judgment told him Hop Sing could provide the details. It hadn't been easy, but Roy was able to convince the loyal houseman, and after reading the second letter from Silcott, Roy knew he had to intervene.

They'd been in similar situations before, the Cartwrights and the sheriff. It seemed as though one Cartwright or another was often in danger of some sort, and luckily, they'd cheated death each and every time. As he rode on, Roy said a silent prayer that this time would be no different.

Rounding the bend that led to the Truckee, Roy noticed the telltale dust cloud of riders ahead in the distance. He pulled up on the reins, stood in the stirrups, and squinted into the sunlight. "Looks like four, maybe five," he thought. "And they're ridin' hard. Could be the Silcott gang."

Roy estimated the group to be fifteen minutes away—if they kept up the pace they'd set. The terrain left no other sensible path, and men in a hurry usually took the quickest route.

He dismounted and tethered his horse. The rope on the back of his saddle had been trimmed after its last use, and he hoped it would still do the job. Quickly, he tied one end to a tree trunk, about four feet from the ground. He stretched the rope across the path and secured the other end, as well.

The din of horses' hooves pounding the ground raised his pulse—the riders were close. He stood against a tall pine, pressing his back into the bark. Gun drawn, Roy listened, gauging the distance before the riders' horses would hit the rope.

He considered that the men might not be Silcott's gang, or if they were, that Adam, Ben, or Hoss might be among them. But it was a chance he had to take.

The pounding grew louder. Roy reminded himself to breathe. The force of the hooves pummeling the ground vibrated in the tree and against his back. "Any time now . . . just wait . . ."

The horses barreled around the curve, the one in front hitting the taut rope with its knees. As the horse went down, a thunderous clap rang in Roy's ears. The other horses panicked, and their riders struggled to stay in their saddles. The downed horse rolled and scrambled to its feet, leaving the rider on the ground.

Roy stepped out of the shadows and onto the trail. Gun aimed upward at the men on horseback, he shouted, "Hold it right there!"

With a sheepish look on his face, Hoss raised his hands high in the air.

Adam dismounted and rushed to Dawson, lying face down on the ground.

Ben, still wrestling with Buck's reins, scowled down at the sheriff.

Roy, glanced at each of the men, returned his gun to its holster, and chuckled nervously. "Well, it seems I've managed to capture the good guys."

Ben was not amused. He climbed from his saddle and joined Adam on the ground.

With their help. Dawson was able to sit. He spit the dirt from his mouth and wiped his face with his sleeve. He looked at Adam, and then at the lawman who caused his fall.

Adam couldn't help it—he smiled. "U.S. Marshal Dawson McAllister, I'd like you to meet Virginia City's finest, Sheriff Roy Coffee."

"A simple wave would have stopped us," Dawson said.

This time, it was Hoss who couldn't stop himself. "Roy ain't much for wavin'."

Adam, Dawson, and Hoss laughed, but Ben was less appreciative of the humor.

"Roy," Ben said, "when you get back to Virginia City, you'll find four of Silcott's gang in your jail. We're on our way to the Ponderosa. Ann's there and Silcott's still on the loose." Ben guided Buck around the loosened rope and started for the ranch. Hoss followed.

Dawson got to his feet, gently pushing a concerned Adam away. As he checked his mount, Roy made his apologies.

"No need, Sheriff Coffee," Dawson said. "I'd most likely have done the same thing."

Relieved that his horse hadn't been injured by the fall, Dawson mounted and slowly walked the horse back and forth, steadying his nerves.

"I think I'd best get back to Virginia City," Roy said. "I'll ride out to the ranch after I take care of the Silcott gang. You two be careful, ya hear?"

Dawson and Adam agreed, and the two rode off to the north while Roy headed west.


	15. Chapter 15

Chapter Fifteen

The settee was comfortable. Ann was not. The spacious ranch house provided plenty of room to move about, more than enough rooms to explore, but being confined indoors for days had filled Ann with anxiety equal to the situation at hand.

It didn't help that Hop Sing refused to let her perform the simplest of household chores. As she sat by the fire, she recalled an exchange she'd had with Adam more than a year ago. He had said Hop Sing ran his house—and he did think of it as his—with an iron hand and a tongue that could match the drunkest sailor on the ocean. According to Adam, when needed, Hop Sing's choice of tongue was Mandarin and, anxious as she was, Ann had no intention of summoning that dialect.

She tried, for the umpteenth time, to read a book, the title of which she couldn't even remember. The clock chimed—two long, resonant bongs. Her breath caught in her throat. _They should have been back by now._ She slammed the book shut. _I knew something would go wrong!_

"Missy not like book, many more in study."

Ann jolted and the book toppled to the floor. "Hop Sing, I didn't hear you come in."

He smiled and set the stack of clean, folded laundry he'd been carrying on the living room table. He bent down, picked up the book, and handed it to Ann. "Mister Hoss say Hop Sing quiet as mouse. Many time, I catch him with hand in cookie jar."

Ann laughed, and Hop Sing gathered the laundry and continued on to the stairs. He stopped suddenly, turning back to Ann.

"You want different book? Help yourself."

Ann thanked him and watched as he climbed the steps and disappeared into the upstairs hallway. Ann picked up the book and tossed it onto the table. _The only thing I want is-_

A knock at the door stopped Ann in mid-thought. Hop Sing raced down the stairs, waving for Ann to move out of sight. He waited until she was hidden, picked up the gun on the entry credenza, and stood close to the front door.

"Who there?" he asked.

"Pete. Pete Hauser. I got a message here for Ben Cartwright."

Hop Sing opened the door, and the boy handed him the wire.

"Mister Collins over to the telegraph said I was to take the wire to Sheriff Coffee. I done that, but he wasn't there. I left it on his desk. And I was to take this here copy to the Ponderosa. I reckon I done that, too."

Hop Sing smiled at the boy. "Pete come in kitchen. Have plenty ham, roast beef, bread. Make mighty good sandwich."

The boy's eyes lit up, and he stepped inside. Hop Sing peered out into the yard, then quickly closed and latched the door.

"Hello again, Pete," Ann said.

"Howdee, ma'am."

"Hop Sing, I think I will go upstairs and look for another book."

"Pete and Hop Sing be in kitchen."

Pete followed Hop Sing and Ann made her way up the stairs.

After setting the fare on the kitchen table, Hop Sing considered the wire he'd stuffed into his apron pocket. It was intended for the Cartwrights, but Hoss had left him in charge. Although he hid it well, Hop Sing was very worried—three of the people he held most dear were in danger, and like Ann, he'd expected Ben and Hoss long before now.

"Make big sandwich," he told Pete. "Hop Sing be right back."

He stepped across the kitchen and unfolded the wire.

 _Adam with U.S. Marshal. Safe. Heading home. No sign of Silcott. Signed, Sam and Clem_

Hop Sing grinned. "Number one son all right."

"What's that you say?" Pete asked.

Hop Sing hurried back into the kitchen and grabbed a large, porcelain pitcher. "Say boy need milk to wash down sandwich." He poured a full glass, handed it to Pete, and moved to the kitchen window. "Now, if only father and number two son come home."

Dawson knew that for Adam, the pace must be slow. His ribs had been bruised in the fall, and although he'd suggested that the Cartwrights ride on ahead, they'd decided to stay together— for all they knew, Silcott had more men lurking on the Ponderosa, and leaving Dawson to fend for himself was out of the question.

Ben announced that they'd just passed the Ponderosa's northernmost line shack, and that they'd reach the house in thirty minutes or so. Four sets of eyes scanned the horizon, peering between trees, studying movement in the brush, straining to see among the branches.

Dawson, his left side beginning to ache, followed along, unsure of the way. He took stock of the three men, noting the similarities in riding style, the resemblance in their postures, and the subtle way each of them checked on the others from time to time.

"Family," Dawson thought. "Something a lawman should never have. It makes you vulnerable. That's what people say."

The trail narrowed, and Dawson rode second in line, just behind Ben. Everyone drew their guns and straightened in their saddles—a narrow pass meant more places to lie in hiding. Dawson knew of several lawmen who had lost their lives in similar situations.

Fourth in line was Hoss. Dawson worried for the big man. Having witnessed the closeness of the Cartwrights, he knew Ben and Adam would be extra vigilant through the pass—an often-used ambush tactic was to let the group ride through and then execute a surprise attack from behind.

Ben, riding first into the unknown, was no safer than the rest. Any outlaw worth his salt knew to hold back, let the first of the group move through before attacking. Precious seconds were wasted when a rider was forced to turn his horse and find his place in a fight. Most often, those seconds benefited the outlaws—a man under pressure to turn his horse could easily be shot from behind.

The trail led them around a bend, and Dawson, holding his side, looked over his shoulder. "I should have known," he thought, seeing Hoss alert, standing in his stirrups. It was a practice taught to the marshals and other lawmen, as well. The one bringing up the rear took on the task of seeing as far beyond the bend as possible. Dawson shook his head. These Cartwrights were a force in their own right.

Once they'd cleared the turn, the trail widened and the landscape thinned. From there to the ranch house, the terrain was in their favor.

"Not much further," Ben shouted, picking up the pace.

Riding four abreast, the ranch house soon came into view. Dawson spotted three guards, all of whom recognized the Cartwrights' horses from a distance. Moments later, they rode into the yard. Hoss gathered the reins and led all four horses toward the barn. Ben called to one of the guards, and instructed him to stay close to Hoss as he cared for the horses.

Adam and Dawson followed Ben to the door. Knowing it would be latched, Ben knocked, and Dawson imagined it must feel odd for a man to knock on his own front door.

As expected, the door did not open.

"Who there?" came the voice from inside.

"We're home, Hop Sing, Ben said. "We're home."

The latch creaked, the door opened, and Hop Sing greeted them with a most genuine smile. They filed inside, and a worried look washed over his face.

"Where Mister Hoss?"

"He's with Jack, tending the horses," Ben said as he laid his holster on the credenza.

"Where's Ann?" Adam asked.

"I'm right here," Ann said, descending the stairs.

Dawson watched as Adam crossed the room, meeting Ann halfway. From the way Adam had talked, he'd expected to see an attraction between the two, but what he saw confused him. Ann was anxious, and Adam was angry.

"Adam," Ann said, her voice breathy, "I'm so glad to see you." She looked past him at the others. "But I don't understand. I thought your father and brother were tending to cattle and-"

Adam took hold of Ann's forearm. "We need to talk." He led her to the study and closed the door.

The silence that followed was short-lived and awkward at best.

"Mister Cartwright," Hop Sing said, breaking the uneasy tension, "this wire come for you. It say Mister Adam all right. Hop Sing glad you know that before now."

Ben took the wire and nodded. "We've been riding most of the day, Hop Sing. Would make us something to eat and put the coffee on, as well?"

"Right away," he said, and then he disappeared into the kitchen.

Dawson moved to the settee and attempted to sit down. He winced softly, and Ben hurried to his side. "Do you think you can climb the stairs?"

"Yeah."

"Come up to my room and I'll wrap those ribs. You think they're broken?"

Dawson started for the stairs. "No, sir, but they sure are bruised."

As they ascended, muffled, angry voices came from the study below.


	16. Chapter 16

Chapter Sixteen

"What would you have me do? Read a letter threatening us both and NOT tell you you're in danger?"

"Of course not," Adam said. "but you could have wired me or you could have come all this way and gone straight to Sheriff Coffee!"

"I was afraid, don't you see?"

"I do see. But you said you knew I wasn't even in Virginia City, and still, you practically led those outlaws straight to my front door!"

Ann stood her ground. "I came here because your father deserved to know you were in danger."

"And because you knew he'd come up with the money to pay Silcott off."

"I didn't even know about that until just now when you told me! I was under the impression your father and your brother were tending some sick cows!" Ann moved closer to Adam. "They lied to me, Adam. Had I known, I would have-"

"You would have what? Stopped my father from trying to clean up the mess you started when you believed a man like Tom Burns?"

"Yes! I mean, no. I mean-"

"Once again"—he threw his hands in the air and walked away from Ann—"you don't know what you mean!"

"That's not true!"

Adam spun on his heels. "Lady, don't talk to me about truth." He grasped the back edge of the study chaise and leaned against it. "You lied to the sheriff in Placerville, you lied to me, you lied to my father and my brother, and most important, you lied to yourself!"

"I . . . I . . ."

Adam reached down and pounded his fists against upholstery. He straightened, inhaled, and blew the air from his lungs. "Look, you handle things your way, and I handle things my way, and most of the time, those two ways are oceans apart.

"We're still not out of the woods. Silcott doesn't have me, he doesn't have you, and he doesn't have the money." Adam moved around the chaise and stood near Ann. "You understand, I have to ask this. Do you know anything about the stolen money?"

Ann bit her bottom lip, shook her head, and turned away. She wrung her hands and paced, her eyes downcast. "I didn't know anything about Tom's time with the Silcott gang. I'd never even heard the name Silcott until all of this."

Doubt. Adam felt doubt.

"I didn't know Worth Silcott was Tom's brother-in-law. I . . . I didn't know."

A knock on the door halted Ann's pacing.

"Come in," Adam said coldly.

Dawson entered the room, his eyes darting from Adam to Ann and back again. "Sheriff Coffee sent someone from town with a message. Worth Silcott is reported to be in San Francisco. It seems he was seen getting off a train before renting a horse."

Adam studied Dawson's expression. "You don't believe it, do you?"

"Can't say. Yet. It's unlikely a bank robber will give up on money he calls his own. Very unlikely. We've been after Silcott for a few years now, but we never expected to find the stolen cash. Could be Silcott's telling the truth about Burns hiding the money and getting killed before he could retrieve it."

"Tom wasn't in on any bank robbery," Ann said.

"Ma'am," Dawson said, "I'm Tom Burns' stepbrother."

"What?"

"That's right. I grew up with him. A boy who fought, stole, cheated, and lied his way through childhood turned into a man who did all that and much, much worse. I'm afraid you're wrong. The Tom Burns you knew wasn't real."

Ann ran from the study and up to her bedroom.

"Maybe I shouldn't have been so blunt," Dawson said.

Adam shook his head. "Sometimes blunt is all Ann Reid understands." Adam sighed. "Do you really think Silcott is in Frisco?"

"He could be in Frisco or Dodge or Timbuktu. Silcott's been known to send his men to do his dirty work while he's off somewhere safe and out of sight."

"But . . ."

"But something about all of this doesn't set well. Call it a hunch, call it instinct, call it an outlaw will do whatever an outlaw will do."

Adam crossed the room and stood next to Dawson. "You're leaving?"

"Yes. Your father's lending me a buggy." Dawson patted his newly-wrapped ribcage. "Another couple of hours on a horse just might do me in."

"What about the stage?"

"I'll take a hotel room for the night, and hopefully, I'll be well enough to be on the early morning stage."

"I'll walk you out," Adam said, following Dawson into the living room. "You'll be in touch?"

Dawson faced Adam. "I will, even after Silcott's behind bars, if that's all right."

Adam offered his hand. "I'd like that."

The two shook hands and walked to the readied buggy. Hoss and Ben said their thanks and goodbyes, and all three waved as one of the hands drove Dawson McAllister, U.S. Marshal, out of the yard.

Dinner that night was awkward. Very awkward. Ben, Hoss, and Hop Sing had heard the angry voices coming from the study earlier, and now, seated at the table, the long periods of silence seemed more intense than the argument.

Hop Sing approached the table, reaching for Ben's empty plate. "Hop Sing make apple pie for dessert. Bring four pieces right away."

"Thank you, Hop Sing," Ben said.

"Mm mm," Hoss said, "apple pie's one of my favorites."

Adam cocked his head toward his brother. "Name something that isn't one of your favorites."

Ben smiled. "I'd like to hear that, too."

"Cheese. I don't like cheese."

Ann couldn't help herself. She smiled, and she decided the time was right. "I'll be leaving first thing in the morning," she said, speaking directly to Ben. "I need to get back to my job, back to my life."

Ben watched Adam closely. He didn't want to make an offer his son would object to.

"Hoss," Adam said, "would you mind riding in with Ann?"

"I'd be glad to," Hoss said, his eyes glowing as Hop Sing carried in the pie.

"Well, then," Adam said, "it's settled. Uh, no pie for me, Hop Sing." He wiped his mouth with his napkin. "If you'll excuse me, I'm going to turn in early. It's been a long few days."

Ben and Hoss watched as Adam went up to his room.

"I feel I should apologize for my son," Ben said to Ann.

"No need," she replied. "Adam's a good man, and I've given him more than enough cause to dislike me. But I do need to thank you both for all you've done, and to apologize for bringing my troubles to your doorstep." Ann got up and hurried to her bedroom.

The next morning, Ann Reid left the Ponderosa. Adam stayed in his room, defeating the temptation to watch from his window.

Ann Reid boarded the morning stage, waving to Hoss as it pulled away. She had a long trip ahead, having to change stages three times before reaching her home.

Back on the Ponderosa, Ben sat in his favorite, comfortable chair next to the fire. He'd decided he'd spend the day at home, close to Adam. His eldest son's behavior wasn't surprising—most of the time Adam was a forgiving man, but it seemed to Ben that Ann hadn't asked for forgiveness.

It was mid-morning when Adam came downstairs. Ben sat at his desk, the top covered in papers, pencils, and a tray holding his second pot of coffee and three cups.

Adam walked to the backside of the desk, pulled up a chair, and sat without saying a word.

"There's coffee, if you'd like."

"Thanks." Adam poured himself a cup. "Can I help?"

Ben tapped his pencil against the desk. "I thought you'd never ask."

Both men smiled.

Adam rested his arms on the desk and sipped his coffee. "You still have those notes from Silcott or did you give them to Dawson?"

Ben began to rummage through the mass of papers. "I've got them here somewhere . . . ah, here's the one Ann brought, and . . . yes, here's the one Pete delivered."

Adam took the letters and, holding one in each hand, sank back into his chair.

"You sure you want to stir all that up again?" Ben asked.

Adam didn't answer, his eyes fixed on the first note.

Ben shrugged, glanced at one of his papers, and signed his name at the bottom. He looked up, only to find Adam still staring at the two notes.

"Adam . . . Adam."

"You ever look at these together?"

"What? No, I guess not."

Adam got up and walked around the desk. He stood next to his father and placed the notes, side by side, on the desk. "Tell me what you see."

Ben studied the notes, his brow gradually lifting. He looked closer, and his eyes widened.

"You see it, don't you?" Adam asked.

"Yes, yes I do."

"I should have known!"

"Let's ride!"

Adam, hands propped at his waist, paced the length of the jail and back.

"Well, I'll be," Roy said. "They aren't the same."

Adam leaned against the sheriff's desk. "If you planned on breaking out of prison, and you knew where you could get your hands on a hefty sum of cash, and you needed to distract the law . . ."

Roy nodded. "I believe you're right. Clem, send a wire to the marshals in San Francisco. And you better send one to the sheriff in Belmont. I'm sure he'll be payin' a certain lady a visit."

Two days later, Ann Reid arrived in Cherry Creek. She climbed down from the stage and addressed driver. "Please have my bag taken to the hotel."

The driver admired the fit of her dress. "Sure thing, Missus Lockwood. And if there's anything else, Missus Lockwood, don't hesitate to ask."

Ann grinned. She looked up and down the main street of the small mining town, and she frowned. _Just a few days._ She lifted her skirts and stepped carefully across the muddy street. Once on the hotel's porch, she smoothed her dress, tucked a few stray hairs into her hat, and walked inside. She spoke briefly to the hotel desk clerk, accepted a key and then, with a bounce in her step, walked up the staircase and down the hallway, stopping in front of room 6. She unlocked the door and stepped inside. The room was darkened, the thick shade on the window was down.

She stood in the doorway, silhouetted by the light from the hallway. In the room, the window shade flew up. A man stood in the light, his back to the door.

Ann stepped into the room and closed the door. On the bed lay an empty, rusted lock box stacks of bills—$50,000.

"Hello, Worth," she said.

"Hello, my darling Ann."

~ ~ the end ~ ~


End file.
